Phrases I Hang Up On

by Graham Denton

When I was a child, my mother taught me it was impolite to hang up on people. A good rule, and I've tried to observe it ever since, although in recent years it's become increasingly difficult. This has nothing to do with crank calls or obscenities. It has to do with the current breed of telemarketers, whose importunities are pushing my breeding to its limits.

It's not just that they call, as if by magic, at the precise instant that I'm taking the chicken off the grill. Dinnertime is when people are home, after all. You should expect interruptions. What bugs me to the point of reconsidering my mother's counsel is the grab bag of scripted imbecilities to which telemarketers resort, kneejerk fashion, so they don't have to actually think about what they are saying.

It's not their fault. Blame the marketing whizzes who insist that their people follow meticulously crafted call scripts in the time-honored delusion that this constitutes selling. What it constitutes is an insult to the intelligence of any non-comatose prospect and the strongest inducement I know of to hang up the phone.

You want specifics? Here are my eight least favorite telemarketing phrases, given in the order in which they are routinely trotted out:

"May I please speak to Mr. Groom Danton?" How hard can it be to get three syllables right? Especially when you're reading the name off a directory listing. My advice to you beleaguered call center phone jockeys: Take two seconds to read the name before you dial. If you're not sure how to pronounce it, ask the genius who provided you with the script.

"How are you today, Mr. Danton? That's good." These are actually not two phrases, but one with a hole in the middle. The prospect is supposed to fill in the hole with 'Fine.' You want proof that this is transparently insincere? Think of what you would say if, in the hole, I inserted, "I just ground up my hand in the garbage disposal."

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to sell you anything." I wasn't worried until you told me that. When somebody announces up front that she's not selling anything, you can bet that somebody else is--and that the caller's job is to take your pulse before she sends him in. My response to this technically accurate falsehood? "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I was really interested in buying something, but I guess I'm out of luck. Goodbye now."

"Congratulations! You're the lucky winner of" Something I neither want nor need, probably. And something that I will only collect--at "absolutely no cost" to me--if I devote six hours of my time listening to a presentation. Get real. If your "gift" is going to cost me in time, then it's not free. If it's really free and I've really won it, drop it in the mail.

"Because of your excellent credit rating..." This is the standard set-up for trying to sell me a piece of plastic that will make it more difficult for me to maintain that rating. My standard response to this line--before the caller finishes the sentence--is "Thanks, but I have all the credit cards I need. Have a nice day." Of course no telemarketer worth her salt ever hangs up at this point. Instead, she says:

"I understand that, Mr. Danton, but..." This is followed by a litany of features that transform the credit card that I didn't want in the first place into a credit card with features I don't want. Here's a news flash from the world of common sense: If I don't want a new car, period, why would I want one with a thirty-six month warranty and bucket seats?

"If you want more information, our 800 number is..." Here's another news flash. If I was even vaguely interested in your product, I would have indicated that, and we'd still be talking. I realize that your boss insists that you get in the 800 number, but you can tell him for me: If I'm about to hang up on you, I won't be jotting down your number.

"This is just a courtesy call." This is what I get when a call comes in for my wife, she isn't in, and I ask if I can take a message. When the caller gives me the "courtesy" response, I'm always tempted to ask "courteous to whom?" That of course would be discourteous, so I don't do it. But I'll tell you one thing. If I could identify the person who devised this particular verbal tic, I would whack him silly with a copy of Miss Manners.

Bottom line lesson: If you want me to stay on the line, say something worth listening to. And say it to me, as an individual, not a number on a call list. If your supervisor thinks this is crazy, have her make the call. I'll look forward, as a courtesy, to hanging up on her.