Archives for March 2011

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Open Letter To A Fellow Passenger On The Toronto Transit Commission

March 23, 2011 By

Dear fellow T.T.C. passenger,

This morning I had the commute from hell, along with many other T.T.C. passengers. My bus ride to the subway station, which usually takes twenty minutes on a bad day, took an hour and a half. I got to work 45 minutes late, and from the sounds of your constant loud complaining that everyone on the bus had to listen to for an hour, you were late too.

Yes, I know it is frustrating. Yes, I know that the T.T.C. has its share of problems, like aging signal equipment and less than ideal public announcement systems. But it seems unfair to blame the bus driver for a traffic accident that happened while he was way over on the other end of the city picking you up so he could listen to your insults. We were ALL uncomfortable. We were ALL late, and we were ALL frustrated. But you know, sometimes crap just happens and we have to live with it.

The bus driver was just doing his job, and he was doing it well. He remained cheerful and polite despite the fact that you referred to him as an asshole who was making you late. He was trying to keep all of us informed as to what was going on, but he cannot pass on information that he doesn’t have. Give the poor guy a break. Imagine how frustrated he must have felt, knowing that he would be letting us off at the subway station and then driving back through the traffic mess.

I had the misfortune to end up in the same section of the subway train as you. This time I had to listen to you bitch and moan about the fact that the train was so crowded. Just further evidence, in your eyes, of the abhorrent state of the T.T.C. You got a decent seat, so what were you complaining about? Other people had to stand, having just stood for well over an hour in the bus. I didn’t hear them throwing their toys out of the cot.

While we’re on the subject of your seat, I feel obligated to point out that the elderly gentleman you gave dirty looks to had more right than your bag to sit in the seat beside you. Other people put their bags on the floor in front of them. What’s wrong with you doing the same? It’s not like your bag is better than anyone else’s.

Thank God you got off the train two stops before I did. Dealing with you while I was transferring from one crowded subway line to the other might have been a bit much.

I found you, fellow T.T.C. passenger, to be rude, insulting, and selfish. But because I am a forgiving type who gives people the benefit of the doubt (or maybe I’m just a pushover), I am open to the possibility that you are generally a nice person who is going through a really bad time.

And I wish you a lovely day.

Yours faithfully,
The woman you pushed past so roughly that she spilled coffee all over her coat

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenharris/3986106972)

Filed Under: Public Transit, Toronto Transit Commission Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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It’s My Blog And I’ll Cry If I Want To

March 22, 2011 By

Yesterday I received an email that was very upsetting. It was not upsetting in an earth-shattering kind of way, but it was one of those messages that creates an uncomfortable feeling. The email was fraught with emotion and drama that I found unwarranted for the circumstances. The tone was angry and the message was negative.

I simmered. After I had simmered for a while, I responded to the email. I would describe the tone of my response as “controlled anger”. I felt that I needed to let my correspondent know that I was angry and why, but I did not want to be insulting or rude. Having re-read both the original email and my reply, I believe that my response was reasonable.

Later in the day, a  mutual friend told me that the email had been sent to me in response to a remark I had made in yesterday’s blog post.

I confess that I was, and still am, mystified. I did not say anything derogatory or inflammatory, I did not say anything that this person did not already know, and I did not even refer to this person, either by name or by reference. I made a passing reference to something the individual had quoted me on for my wedding. I did not say anything bad about the quote. I did not even mention the quote.

My comment was, at worst, an oblique reference that drew one hell of a knee-jerk reaction. I am absolutely clear that there was nothing insulting in there. And again, I did not say anything that the person was not already aware of.

I was bothered by all of this, but to be fair, I was bothered by a number of things yesterday. This was just one stressor of many. I mentioned the incident to a friend last night during a Skype chat, and she suggested that maybe I should be careful about the wedding-related stuff I post in my blog, just in case someone involved in the wedding planning reads it and gets offended.

I value the opinions of my friends, but I have to respectfully disagree with that one. For a start, I am always aware of what I am posting. I try my utmost to never post anything that could be construed as offensive, malicious, derogatory or discriminatory. I’m just not that kind of person. I am, however, human, and I do remember one occasion on which I posted something that offended someone. I could see why the person might get offended, even though that was not my intent, and I apologized. The following day I posted a clarification and an apology. Both were accepted. No harm done.

This isn’t the same, though. I do not feel that any apology is in order. I did not say anything bad about any individual, group of individuals, profession, race, religion, anything. I made a passing reference while I was venting about the stress of wedding planning.

I feel completely OK about the fact that I was venting. I am using my God-given right, as a bride who is less than six weeks away from her wedding, to be stressed.

If I want to vent here on my blog, I will. I am not going to start walking on egg-shells on the off-chance that someone might blow a fuse at a general reference that is not insulting and does not even refer to them.

If, by chance, I do say something that offends you, please let me know nicely. If I feel that I have wronged someone, even without meaning to, I am completely fine with making a public apology. I’m a big girl. I can take responsibility for the things I say.

All I ask is that you be nice.

Filed Under: Conflict, Email, Wedding Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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It’s My Blog And I’ll Cry If I Want To

March 22, 2011 By

Yesterday I received an email that was very upsetting. It was not upsetting in an earth-shattering kind of way, but it was one of those messages that creates an uncomfortable feeling. The email was fraught with emotion and drama that I found unwarranted for the circumstances. The tone was angry and the message was negative.

I simmered. After I had simmered for a while, I responded to the email. I would describe the tone of my response as “controlled anger”. I felt that I needed to let my correspondent know that I was angry and why, but I did not want to be insulting or rude. Having re-read both the original email and my reply, I believe that my response was reasonable.

Later in the day, a  mutual friend told me that the email had been sent to me in response to a remark I had made in yesterday’s blog post.

I confess that I was, and still am, mystified. I did not say anything derogatory or inflammatory, I did not say anything that this person did not already know, and I did not even refer to this person, either by name or by reference. I made a passing reference to something the individual had quoted me on for my wedding. I did not say anything bad about the quote. I did not even mention the quote.

My comment was, at worst, an oblique reference that drew one hell of a knee-jerk reaction. I am absolutely clear that there was nothing insulting in there. And again, I did not say anything that the person was not already aware of.

I was bothered by all of this, but to be fair, I was bothered by a number of things yesterday. This was just one stressor of many. I mentioned the incident to a friend last night during a Skype chat, and she suggested that maybe I should be careful about the wedding-related stuff I post in my blog, just in case someone involved in the wedding planning reads it and gets offended.

I value the opinions of my friends, but I have to respectfully disagree with that one. For a start, I am always aware of what I am posting. I try my utmost to never post anything that could be construed as offensive, malicious, derogatory or discriminatory. I’m just not that kind of person. I am, however, human, and I do remember one occasion on which I posted something that offended someone. I could see why the person might get offended, even though that was not my intent, and I apologized. The following day I posted a clarification and an apology. Both were accepted. No harm done.

This isn’t the same, though. I do not feel that any apology is in order. I did not say anything bad about any individual, group of individuals, profession, race, religion, anything. I made a passing reference while I was venting about the stress of wedding planning.

I feel completely OK about the fact that I was venting. I am using my God-given right, as a bride who is less than six weeks away from her wedding, to be stressed.

If I want to vent here on my blog, I will. I am not going to start walking on egg-shells on the off-chance that someone might blow a fuse at a general reference that is not insulting and does not even refer to them.

If, by chance, I do say something that offends you, please let me know nicely. If I feel that I have wronged someone, even without meaning to, I am completely fine with making a public apology. I’m a big girl. I can take responsibility for the things I say.

All I ask is that you be nice.

Filed Under: Conflict, Email, Wedding Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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In Six Weeks It Won’t Matter

March 21, 2011 By

Yesterday – horror of horrors – I did not post to my blog. That’s right folks, I missed a day in my post-a-day challenge. But fear not – I have enough extra posts racked up to provide me with a buffer for those days when I just have too much going on. But still, going for a day with no posts does not sit well with me. It makes me feel uncomfortable and ill at ease, like when someone has moved my running shoes from their spot by the front door.

Most of my time yesterday was taken up by wedding planning. I had arranged for my maid-of-honour Michelle to come by for a makeup trial. Due to a combination of circumstances, my makeup lady was unable to come as arranged, but she had visited the previous day and left me with some samples. I considered telling Michelle that she didn’t need to come, but changed my mind because I still needed her to look at the samples, and I just wanted to see her and hang out with her for a while.

She arrived right on schedule, bearing gifts of coffee and donuts. I showed her the samples and we decided on makeup colours, and then we went through my never-ending checklist of stuff that needs to be done.

We celebrated the fact that everyone’s clothing has been sorted out, bar the fittings and measurements. We lamented the fact that my potential hairdresser had not yet responded to my messages.

We were happy about the fact that we have a confirmed DJ, and we’re pretty confident about the photography and videography. We stressed about the fact that we don’t have our transportation for the day sorted out.

We have a makeup artist for the day, but for cost reasons, I have to revisit the question of the cake.

The church and hall and booked and confirmed, but we have yet to think about flowers and decor.

For everything that’s been done, there seems to be something that’s still outstanding.

Who knew that wedding planning could be so involved?

It’s all very stressful.

To relieve some of the stress, I went for a run after Michelle had left. It was a tough run at a brisk pace, and included a big fat hill right at the end. By the time I got home I was so exhausted, and my legs were protesting so much, that I forgot all about the stress of wedding planning.

It is so strange to think that six weeks from now it will all be over, and none of this stress will matter anymore.

As long as great memories are made, it will all be worthwhile.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/shelleyp/833463719)

Filed Under: running, Wedding Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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In Six Weeks It Won’t Matter

March 21, 2011 By

Yesterday – horror of horrors – I did not post to my blog. That’s right folks, I missed a day in my post-a-day challenge. But fear not – I have enough extra posts racked up to provide me with a buffer for those days when I just have too much going on. But still, going for a day with no posts does not sit well with me. It makes me feel uncomfortable and ill at ease, like when someone has moved my running shoes from their spot by the front door.

Most of my time yesterday was taken up by wedding planning. I had arranged for my maid-of-honour Michelle to come by for a makeup trial. Due to a combination of circumstances, my makeup lady was unable to come as arranged, but she had visited the previous day and left me with some samples. I considered telling Michelle that she didn’t need to come, but changed my mind because I still needed her to look at the samples, and I just wanted to see her and hang out with her for a while.

She arrived right on schedule, bearing gifts of coffee and donuts. I showed her the samples and we decided on makeup colours, and then we went through my never-ending checklist of stuff that needs to be done.

We celebrated the fact that everyone’s clothing has been sorted out, bar the fittings and measurements. We lamented the fact that my potential hairdresser had not yet responded to my messages.

We were happy about the fact that we have a confirmed DJ, and we’re pretty confident about the photography and videography. We stressed about the fact that we don’t have our transportation for the day sorted out.

We have a makeup artist for the day, but for cost reasons, I have to revisit the question of the cake.

The church and hall and booked and confirmed, but we have yet to think about flowers and decor.

For everything that’s been done, there seems to be something that’s still outstanding.

Who knew that wedding planning could be so involved?

It’s all very stressful.

To relieve some of the stress, I went for a run after Michelle had left. It was a tough run at a brisk pace, and included a big fat hill right at the end. By the time I got home I was so exhausted, and my legs were protesting so much, that I forgot all about the stress of wedding planning.

It is so strange to think that six weeks from now it will all be over, and none of this stress will matter anymore.

As long as great memories are made, it will all be worthwhile.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/shelleyp/833463719)

Filed Under: running, Wedding Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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Wedding Planning Worries

March 19, 2011 By

I have discovered an odd parallel between wedding planning and parenting. With both, you always have something to worry about, but the particular worries change and evolve depending on what stage you are in.

For instance, I look back on the day I first brought George home from the hospital. There I was, a new Mom with this ridiculously small human being who looked so fragile. I was terrified that I’d break him, that something bad would happen just because I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

When it became apparent that I actually had the ability to keep him alive, I started worrying about different things. Was he sleeping enough? Was I feeding him the right stuff? What did that rash on his face mean? How did I know whether or not to worry about a fever?

Then James came along and brought with him a whole new set of worries. Now, I worry about stuff like sibling relationships, whether the boys are happy at school, and how to keep up with the fact that they seem to outgrow their shoes within the first ten minutes of owning them.

A year from now, I will no doubt be stressing about something else.

It’s been much the same with my wedding planning.

Right in the beginning, I was focused on getting the reception hall booked. I figured that as long as we had a place to party, nothing else would really matter. It took us a long time to commit to a hall, and throughout the whole selection process I was stressed to the hilt and being pulled in different directions by different people who wanted different things.

The moment we paid the deposit on the hall, a weight lifted from my mind. But soon another one settled there: the weight regarding my dress. A long story, the dress was. It involved a promise from my soon-to-be mother-in-law to make it, a retraction of said promise, and an argument before the promise was reinstated. There were discussions about whether or not I would wear a veil, and these discussions were more heated than one might expect.  Eventually, my wishes prevailed (and why shouldn’t they?) and it is now known by all concerned that I will not be wearing a veil.

Then I started to panic about the shoes. I had to go on several shoe-shopping trips, and I hated every one of them, because – well, I hate shoe-shopping. Just as I was starting to think that I would have to wear my battered running shoes to my wedding, I found a pair of shoes that I love.

Okay. Deep, soothing breaths.

When the shoes were sorted, it was time to worry about the guest list and the invitations. This caused me no end of stress. Initially I was going to keep it simple. I got plain but elegant stationery to print the invitations on, I had the invitations designed and I was just about to print them when…

…the hub-to-be announced that we should have a theme for the wedding.

It’s a great theme, I have to confess. I’m glad we’re going with it. But it meant that we had to change what we were doing with the invitations, and as a result they went out ten days later than I would have liked. But they went out, and all credit to Gerard, they are really nice.

We have a makeup person.

We have a DJ.

Everyone’s clothing has been sorted out.

Now, I guess because I actually have the time to worry about it, I have a new worry.

Who is going to do my hair?

I already know what my next worry after this one will be, but for now, I’m going to focus on the hair.

I can only worry about one wedding-related thing at a time, otherwise my head might just implode.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/saffy_suppi/4958417528)

Filed Under: parenting, Wedding, Worry Tagged With: , , , , ,
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Mommy Is A Boy

March 18, 2011 By

George - laughing boy!

This week, I had to share March break parenting duties with Gerard. It did not mean much to us where James is concerned, because James still got taken to the daycare and picked up again at the usual times each day. George, who usually gets bussed to school from the therapy centre each lunchtime, had to be picked up and brought home instead, and one of us had to be around for him.

And that is how, on Tuesday and Wednesday, I found myself working from home.

It was a treat. As soon as I had dropped James off, I got to start my work early instead of sitting in public transit for over an hour. I got to spend two entire mornings at home by myself, with no distractions. I got to complete tasks that tend to get pushed to the bottom of the pile when I’m in the office, because I have to keep running to meetings. I got to go running. In SUNLIGHT!

And by the time George’s grandmother had kindly picked him up, provided him with lunch, and delivered him to me, most of my work for the day was done, and I got to spend the better part of the afternoon alone with my firstborn.

As I always tell my kids, I love them “bigger than everything”. I love it when they collaborate with each other to wrestle me to the ground and play with me. Reading bedtime stories with them at night, with one child on either side of me, brings me great joy. When I wake up in the early hours of the morning to find myself sandwiched between my sleeping boys, I think of how lucky I am to have these kids. When I am together with both of my boys, I am happy.

But you know, getting to spend one-on-one time with either of them is a treasure as well. And so I savoured those two afternoons with George, when it was just him and me. Even when I was finishing up my work for the day, he was at his computer and we were each doing our thing, in companionable silence.

On Wednesday afternoon, right after I had finished my work and packed up my work laptop, George clambered into my lap – no mean feat for a long, lanky seven-year-old – and cheerfully said, “Mommy is a boy.”

I gasped in mock horror, “Noooooooo,” I said. “Mommy is a girl!”

George let loose with his giggles.

It is worth mentioning at this point that George has the most infectious laugh I have ever heard. It is impossible to hear this kid giggle and not giggle right along with him. He is the living epitome of the phrase, “Laugh and the world laughs with you.”

So there were the two of us, giggling as if there was no tomorrow because my son had called me a boy.

When the laughing subsided, I said to George, “Mommy is a…”

“BOY!” he shouted, collapsing once more into helpless giggles.

At that, I started bouncing him up and down on my lap as I chanted, “Mommy is a girl! Mommy is a girl! Mommy is a girl!”

Very quickly, George caught on to the chanting idea, and in unison with me, he was chanting, “Mommy is a boy! Mommy is a boy! Mommy is a boy!”

This continued until George became so overcome with mirth that he slithered off my lap and actually rolled on the floor laughing.

It was a truly phenomenal moment of connection, significant in many, many ways.

George had initiated the contact.

George had demonstrated his quirky sense of humour.

George had engaged in extended communication with me for the express purpose of making a joke and having fun – in other words, for social purposes.

George had continued the interaction, and determined its direction and outcome.

And George – my beautiful, bright, FUNNY child – had made laugh so much that my face hurt.

Filed Under: Humour, life Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Life As Seen By My BlackBerry

March 17, 2011 By

On days when words fail me, my BlackBerry comes through. I have gotten into the habit of taking pictures with it, because it is so convenient. I don’t always have my camera with me when Kodak Moments crop up, but I always, always have my BlackBerry.

As a result, I have a multitude of pictures stored on this trusty little device (people are always telling me that iPhones are better, but since I’m anti-Apple and refuse to own anything that starts with “i”, I am not likely to find out). And so, on days when I do not have the time or the mental wherewithal to assemble coherent strings of related words, I can rely on my library of pictures.

As I do today, as I give you this photographic offering.

Yes, it's blurry, but it's still a great pic!

Dopey and Dopier

Sign made by James: No Dogs Allowed

What's he doing with his face?

What's he doing with his face again?

George and his creation

Proof that they *can* sit together quietly!

Move over, Gordon Ramsay!

Filed Under: family, Photography, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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A Foray Into Fiction

March 16, 2011 By

Today, I share with you the prologue of a fictional book that I have been working on over the last couple of years. Read it and tell me: would you want to read on?

At last they’re all gone.  They took forever this morning, and I thought I’d never be alone. Cass’s hairdryer broke. Leah couldn’t find her track shoes.  The coffee machine spilled over.  Daniel accidentally spilled a full box of Cheerios all over the kitchen floor.  I yelled at him and then felt like a piece of shit, so I atoned by making him pancakes.

I love them all, and that’s why I am always so edgy until they’ve left in the mornings. I don’t want them to see the bleakness and desperation in my soul.  When they’re here I have to be cheerful.  I have to pretend everything is OK.  I have to make sure no-one can see the cracks in my life, and it drains my energy.  By the time we’re all eating a breakfast that makes me feel nauseous, I’m exhausted.

But now they’re gone, and I can relax. I’m by myself, so I don’t have to hide anything. I can let the anxiety consume me, I can let the knot in my stomach expand until it chokes me, I can let the trembling take over.

I watch the children disappear around the corner on their way to school, and then I go into the living room and lie down on the couch.  I run my fingers through my hair, no doubt making it stand up every which way.  I’ve tried all of those man-gels that are supposed to make hair lie flat, but none of them work. I once had a brush-cut in an attempt to tame it, but Cass begged me to grow it out. She says my unruly locks are sexy.

I dig my hand down behind the seat cushions in search of the remote.  Daniel is always stuffing things down there when he has nowhere else to put them.  Cass once found an entire little toy army under there. I root around for a minute and find the remote.  I turn on the TV and immediately wish I hadn’t bothered.

The news is on. As usual, the anchor is going on about the economic meltdown engulfing most of the civilized world. Stock market indices have hit rock bottom. Two major companies have posted massive third-quarter losses.  The real estate market is in freefall.  Another thirty thousand people are expected to lose their jobs in the next week. Small businesses are being forced to close up shop by the dozen.

Join the fucking club. Knowing that I’m not the only guy to go out of business doesn’t help.  There’s no comfort in being part of a sad statistic.

As screwed-up as it is, losing my business is the least of my problems. I cannot believe how stupid I’ve been. If I had told Cass the truth ten months ago I wouldn’t have this unbelievable mess to deal with now. But she was so excited about finally getting her promotion and I didn’t want to burst her bubble. I thought I could sort everything out myself, without dragging Cass and the kids into it. I’ll have to come clean now, though, and that will be so much harder. Cass will stand by me, I know she will. But my heart constricts when I think of the look of hurt I will see on her face when she discovers how I have deceived her.

I have to cut the crap. I got myself into this. I don’t deserve sympathy from anyone, least of all myself. I have to bite the bullet and fix this.

Today I will make the phone call, the call that will set the wheels in motion to put everything right again. I picture the slip of paper in my wallet that has the number written on it, and I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. But I have to do it. I will do it. Today.

There. I’ve made a promise, a commitment to myself and my family.  If I break it, I’m scum. I have to do the right thing, and I will.  There’s no way to fix this without dragging Cass into it.  But it will be so much worse if I don’t. Hopefully we can keep the kids out of it.

I head into the kitchen and put on another pot of coffee.  My nerves are about to spontaneously combust. Caffeine is probably not what I need right now. But it’s that or whisky, and it’s not even nine in the morning. My life’s already fucked up, I really don’t need a foray into alcoholism on top of everything else.

I go upstairs and take a shower and pick out something to wear. Usually I don’t give a rat’s ass what I put on in the mornings, but today is different. It sounds dumb, but I need to look respectable when I make this phone call, out of deference to the person I will be talking to. I put on my new black jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt. My hair – well, there’s not much I can do about that. I’ll probably have to cut it off at some point out of respect for due process. When this is all over I can grow it back, and I’ll never hide anything from Cass again.

I pour myself some coffee and sit at the kitchen table. I try to distract myself by thinking of this weekend. Mom and Dad are flying in from Vancouver tomorrow for the Thanksgiving weekend. Tom and Mike are driving up from Boston tonight. I think they’re both bringing girlfriends. Drew and his family may live just twenty minutes away, but they’ll be at my house for most of the weekend. This place will be a madhouse for three days, but maybe it’ll keep my mind off things.

OK. Focus. All I have to do is make one phone call.  After that it’ll be all out of my control.  Surely I can make one little call. I pour more coffee and find my wallet. I slowly extract the small scrap of paper I’ve been saving since the spring, and for a long time I stare at the name and number scrawled on it.  James Hutchinson. Local number. I don’t really need to look at the paper.  I’ve had the number memorized for months. I could probably just throw it away, but instead I put it back into my wallet. I rehearse the upcoming phone call in my head and try to calm my shattered nerves. This James Hutchinson will help me. I’ll tell him everything. It will be OK.

I take a deep, shaky breath and pick up my BlackBerry.  My hands are shaking so badly that it takes four or five attempts for me to unlock the keyboard. This is it. Barely able to breathe, I start entering the number. I suddenly realize that I have no idea what I’m going to say.

I’m halfway through punching in the number when the doorbell rings. My heart leaps out of my throat and the BlackBerry slips out of my grasp and clatters on the kitchen table.  For a wild moment I think that James Hutchinson is at the door. That’s ridiculous, of course. James Hutchinson doesn’t even know I exist.

I open the door, irrationally hoping for redemption and instead seeing my worst nightmare. As I look into my visitor’s eyes, a knot of excruciating fear grips my stomach. I need to get out of here. I need to run as fast as I can without looking back, but I find myself rooted to the spot. I feel like an invisible hand is wrapping around my throat, constricting my breath, choking the life out of me.

It’s OK. All I have to do is get through the next five minutes.

Then I will make that phone call.

Filed Under: fiction Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Can You Call Back Later?

March 15, 2011 By

After a fairly quiet morning, my phone just rang. I was struck by an initial blast of panic because I hate talking on the phone, except to a select group of people that includes Gerard, my Mom and other close family members. According to the display, it was a long-distance call but no number was available to be displayed.

The only reason I answered was that my Mom had told me my brother might call.

It was not my brother. It was a telemarketer.

This is what the conversation went like:

Me: Hello?

Telemarketer: Hello, this is Rajid from ABC Windows and Doors. How are you today?

Me: I’m fine thank you, how are you?

Telemarketer: I’m fine, thank you for asking.

Me (interjecting quickly but politely to avoid having to listen to the sales pitch): To save us both time, I’d like to mention that I am not interested in buying anything right now.

Telemarketer: Oh no, I’m not trying to sell you anything. I just want to offer you a special price on our windows and doors, for this week only.

OK, did I miss something here? The man tells me that he’s not selling me anything. In the very next sentence he tells me that he wants to sell me something. Whoever wrote the script manual for that telemarketing company should probably look for a new job.

Despite the fact that we are on all kinds of Do Not Call lists, we get our share of telemarketing calls. I deal with them by getting rid of them as quickly but politely as possible (they may be annoying, but they’re just doing their job, and it costs nothing to be nice), or more commonly, by simply not answering the phone.

Gerard has a very different approach. He likes to engage them in conversation and have a little fun messing with them (not in a malicious way; he’s never mean to them).

Several years ago a very nice lady called us – strangely enough, it was also to sell windows and doors. “Would you mind calling back a little later?” Gerard asked sweetly. “I’m in the middle of having sex with my wife.”

Cripes. Even though there was no-one to actually see me (apart from Gerard), I still turned beet-red.

Then there was the time someone called to tell us that James had completed a suvery and won a three-night stay in a hotel in Mexico, and that he would just have to listen to a three-hour time-share presentation. We informed the caller that the then 16-month-old James did not have the writing skills to complete a survey, and that the presenter would have to stop mid-way through his talk to change a diaper.

More recently, we got a call from a guy selling alarm systems, who was so persistent that it was almost admirable. Eventually, Gerard told him that we didn’t need an alarm system because we would simply shoot anyone who started stealing our stuff. The poor guy spent a whole thirty minutes on the phone discussing the merits of alarm systems vs. guns. Ten out of ten for perseverance.

I think I might have a new way of dealing with telemarketers: I will simply give the phone to James (yes, the same James who at 16 months, won a three-night stay – as yet unredeemed – in a Mexican hotel). James has, it would seem, inherited Gerard’s propensity for saying outrageous things.

Telemarketers of the future, beware.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jonphillips/4423187529/)

 

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