Game Over
Outside my window The Banjo Lady is screaming at the top of her lungs.
Key words: Tone Deaf.
Softly blocking out the worst of her shrill screams, Neil Diamond is singing Crack’lin Rosie on a car radio parked in a tow away zone.
Inside The Pigeon Coop I am listening to Hank Williams the third. A third generation, rocking Hell Billy, infused with a meth crazed demeanor and rivaled in my experience only by Baby Arm Joe.
Entire Hank Williams III Shows available for downloading here.
I was feeling too good to go to work tonight.
So, I went anyway. Once there I realized my mistake in showing up for another three and a half hour paid nap and I begged off to come home.
And home I am.
Hank Williams the third has finished singing Thrown Out of Every Bar in Town, and Uncle Tupelo is softly playing Moonshiner.
Wait. It’s the phone.
“hullo?”
“Is Father Luke there?”
“no. I’m not. may i take a message?”
Click
They really should listen to what is being said.
Hey, man? I’m a professional, I know what I’m talking about.
Okay.
I’m sipping the Sober Man’s Drug of choice, Coffee – make mine black with a dollop of Honey and Chocolate Syrup – and as I look there is a blackness filling the sky. The evening to be sure, and something more . . .
I have a fresh attitude; there is an empty computer screen to fill with words, and I have a job search I am continuing.
You see, this piece is a sad foot note to a once bold, fun and profitable chapter in The Great American History of business. A short but powerful Litany known as Phone Sales.
Hi. I’m Father Luke and I am a recovering Phone Solicitor.
(crowd says: Hi Father Luke)
Maybe it’s just me, but waiting for fifteen minutes ( I time the calls to have something to do – reading is forbidden [is that American?] ) – waiting for fifteen minutes between calls seems very much to me that the game is over.
Oh, but it was fun.
Yes, Suh !
During the Heyday of Phone Sales, a Phone Rep (resentative) could walk out of an office with a fistful of cash .
Cash, Mister. Cold hard cash. Enough of which to make a Lawyer stop in mid sip of a three martini lunch & oogle it.
Ah, and then, those were the days.
Sittin’ on top of the world, just rollin’ along.
Only the very rich had answering machines, and faxes weren’t even invented. Voice mail had yet to make it’s way to the main stream and cell phones? Construction workers began carrying the brick. Now every kid on the public transit has a telephone which weighs less than a package of smokes.
Phone sales is currently creeping along like so much spam in your mail box waiting to be ignored and then deleted. To be sure, if you should receive a call, patiently listen for the name of the organization and then ask to be placed on their internal Do Not Call list. Just for added giggles, ask to have a copy of their Do Not Call Policy to be sent to you. If they do not comply, they will be fined. It’s true. I’ve seen it happen. A fat fine awaits those not willing to comply. This is one time patience will truly pay off.
And, hey? I’ll be playing the money game from inside The Pigeon Coop listening to a woman with no musical training screaming horrible screams while beating a banjo with her ham fists.
Bon Scott of AC / DC playing now on the radio drowning her with his viscious Jack Daniels soaked screaming.
Ring me up, you bastards.
G’wan. I’m waiting… waiting ‘round to be a millionaire… .
