Posted on 07/14/2003 10:29:11 AM PDT by Squawk 8888
Never knew plush toys could be so handy
SPEAK UP, SQUEAKY: When visitors to my home spot the half dozen cute stuffed animals gathered about the telephone on my desk, they often scowl and ask: "Do you have children, Dunf?"
"No," I assure them. "I have telemarketers."
Each fuzzy desk toy has a voice chip buried in its belly, eager to chat with pitchmen who dodge the automatic answering machine. You know those nights you expect a call and actually pick up the phone?
When I hear the tell-tale pause that means the call's coming from a vast commercial phone nuisance works, I reach for a stuffed animal.
"Is Mrs. or Mr. Dunford home?" the voice will ask.
"BOING BOING BOING," goes the springy sound effect when I squeeze Hoppy the Easter Bunny's stomach. "My name's Happy Bear! Easter makes me jump with joy!" Hoppy is a rabbit. But his voice chip says he's a bear. Maybe that's why he only cost 99c in a drugstore clearance bin.
"Is Mrs. or Mr. Dunford home?" the caller tries again.
"Spring puts a HOP in my heel!" cries Hoppy, laughing like a maniac. "Do you know who I am? I'm Happy Bear!" Boing boing ...
Know what? The caller usually goes away.
I'd never hang up on a telemarketer. That would be rude. And cutting a fellow working stiff off mid-sentence with a cold "Not interested" doesn't work either: They keep right on talking. Begging for your attention.
"Do you know who I am?" Hoppy asked a telemarketer one night. "I'm Happy Bear!"
"I'm with the 50 Freedoms Foundation, Mr. Bear," she plowed on. "Would you have five minutes free to answer a few questions about banking?"
"Spring puts a HOP in my heel!" Hoppy laughed.
"Mine too," she agreed. "How long have you been with your current bank?"
If the toy hadn't started going Boing Boing, I bet she'd still be on the line.
Squeaky the Weasel stops telemarketers cold. This Scoozie pet makes hilarious chipmunk-like whistles and chuckles. A pal has one: Hearing Squeaky chirp and gobble down a phone line makes you think rodents are actually inside your head, come to eat out your ear drums.
"Listen to this!" I've heard telemarketers cry through Squeaky's squeals, clicks and burbles. "What is it?" a second voice asks. Squeeze the toy weasel's tummy again: He makes a dozen sounds in random order. "It might be a pet rat," I heard one telemarketer speculate.
Telemarketers call to annoy me, but instead I Make Their Night. "You remember the night we reached somebody's pet rat?" they'll recall, years from now. "How did that rat get the phone off the hook?" Beats me.
Some nights, my Tiny Farting Santa Claus takes incoming calls. Barely four inches high, squeeze Santa and he offers one of three messages--after a foul, trumpet-like blast of simulated flatulence.
"Jingle smells, jingle smells" he sings. Or after a tail toot that would bring down geese: "Whoa, sounds like a storm's blowin' in!" Squeeze again and hear an outrageous roar of butt thunder: "Whoa, I think I woke up the kids!"
Best of all, it takes no longer to grab a talking animal near the phone than it does for the guy in the call centre to connect your call to the name on his computer screen. You don't even have to say hello. Squeaky, Hoppy and Farting Santa are my equalize ers. When toys speak, telemarketers listen.
I own Big Red, a chirping cardinal. And Baby Laugh Bird, an eerie, pointy-beaked object that makes a noise I have not heard outside horror films. "Squeeze Baby Laugh Bird, Bird Baby Laugh" says the made-in-China tag. "Hawka hawka hawka" ... I swear it's cats or birds eating a baby. That's why a pal brought it back from Indonesia for me.
A night ago, the phone rings.
"Mr. Dunford?" asks a voice. "It's Bell Canada calling. We're doing a customer service assessment. Would you have five minutes to discuss Bell Canada's call to you last May 16?"
"Of course," I assure the guy. Squeaky giggles softly as I tickle his tummy.
"On a scale of 10, how would you rate the tone and attitude of the Bell Canada representative?"
"The call only lasted 30 seconds," I report. "He hung up, I think."
"So your rating?"
"A zero."
"And how would you rate telephone solicitations in general?"
"FARP!" goes Santa Claus. "Jingle smells, jingle smells." And then: "Do you know who I am? I'm Happy Bear! Spring puts a HOP in my heel!"
"That completes our survey," said the caller, chuckling. "Thank you very much."
Your call may be monitored to assure A High Level of Customer Service.
We do what we can. Right, Squeaky?
I got one of those calls. I told them I was too busy right now, but when I had time to read historical fiction I'd get right back to them.
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