Imperial Valley Press

Telemarket­ers know you’re home and they’re comin’ for you

- CELIA RIVENBARK Celia Rivenbark wonders if real-life “Karens” are tired of being typecast as self-absorbed and spoiled #quitbashin­gKaren. Visit http://celiariven­bark.com

Call me naive, but I am surprised telemarket­ers seem completely undeterred by the worldwide pandemic. For some reason, I assumed Brian from sketchy “dealer services” would be using this time to stay home with his family pondering a change of career. Alas, I was wrong. In fact, Brian, Becky, Adam, Sergio ... the whole cast of characters has upped its game!

Yes, even in the middle of a planet-paralyzing pandemic, apparently I should be deeply concerned about the “urgent” need to buy an additional warranty for a 2013 Kia Optima I traded two years ago.

Is it true, then, like how only cockroache­s would be able to survive a nuclear holocaust, only telemarket­ers will survive COVID-19? And, no, I’m not comparing telemarket­ers to cockroache­s; that would be a huge insult. And no, I wasn’t going to say “to the cockroache­s” because that’s too predictabl­e and, therefore, not funny.

Hmmm. That sounds like the kind of thing you could learn from signing up for my masterclas­s in humor for a grossly inflated fee. From what I can tell, the pandemic has caused a boost in signups for these classes. I think it’s great that so many people want to im

prove their minds during their forced shelter in place. Doris Kearns Goodwin has one on history or maybe baseball. Friends have told me they’re considerin­g signing up for David Sedaris’ humor writing masterclas­s.

For some reason, this pisses me off. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Nope. Just cannot figure it out.

I wanted to discuss all this with my new friend “Spam Risk,” but I think I sounded too needy and he basically said he had to wash his hair.

The healthcare plan folks must’ve heard Dealer Services telemarket­ers were starting to edge them out but, unlike Dealer Services, they always leave a voicemail message.

Reading the transcript­s of these messages is one of the highlights of my day, almost as much fun as the other highlight: holding a large battery-operated wall clock in my hands and screaming at it to “TURN FIVE!”

I had to laugh at a voicemail transcript­ion from “Hannibal” who is apparently Sleepless in Sudan worried slam to death about my choice of supplement­al healthcare policies. (I’m not eligible for Medicare, yet, but I still get a ton of these calls every week to remind me I’m just a buzzard’s wingspan away).

The transcript­ion read “Hollow. Do you have a supper mental hell care police? If not ...”

Another offered “laminate paws” which sounds incredibly uncomforta­ble and I assume should have been “limited paws.” Which also makes no sense, now that I think about it.

I know what you’re thinking. Laminated paws would definitely save the furniture. No, no. What I meant to say was you’re thinking of course telemarket­ers are busily working the phones. We’re trapped in our houses, so bored we are spending way too much money on master classes and asking “Spam Risk” what he’s wearing.

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