A Public Service Annoucement
About four times a week, on average, I get calls from India. People with strange foreign accents ask to speak with Mrs. Wombat.
At first, I was cordial with them, and patiently explained that she hasn't lived at my unlisted telephone number since October, 2003. After speaking with her about this recurring annoyance, I gave the callers her new phone number, and requested that they change and update their database.
When the calls continued, my demeanor deteriorated into snarls of "How did you get this number?" That worked the first time, and discombobulated the poor Hindu on the other end of the line. The second and third times, I got replies that were essentially sales pitches for the online service that can't shoot straight. Now, as I did a few minutes ago, I just hang up without comment. This will never end.
Here's the funny part: the people who persist in ringing up The Possum Den are a bunch calling itself "Online Pharmacy." The ex-Mrs. Wombat requires certain prescriptions for her thyroid and other middle-aged ailments. I suppose it's sensible enough to purchase these drugs from an online vendor.
Think about it, though. Here is a bunch of people who can't correct a wrong telephone number in their database, and you're going to trust them to supply you with medications? Some folks need medicine to sustain their lives, and the proper administration of that medicine is tricky business; a correctly filled prescription can be a matter of life and death. The wrong dosage can be toxic.
So, here's this gang selling drugs on the internet, and they can't get a telephone number right, after being told for over a year that it's the wrong number. I'm sure it's all legal and above-board, the callers are always polite, and I've been chided for snarling at poor working stiffs doing their jobs. Still, would you trust people like this to dispense an aspirin to you? Once, when preparing to give out Mrs. Wombat's new phone number, I asked rhetorically "Have you got your pencil ready?" The person on the other end of the line told me earnestly that they don't keep pencils at hand for noting database adjustments. Every time I've been cordial with these folks, they assure me that they'll make the necessary adjustments to the database. The next day, or sometimes again that same day, the phone will ring, and someone will ask to speak to Mrs. Wombat.
"Online Pharmacy." I have no idea how many people are out there on the Internet calling themselves the "Online Pharmacy." I suppose I should be grateful for their calls; otherwise, I might go for days and not know if my phone is working.
Still, it makes me wonder. If they can't get a phone number right, would I want them to fill a prescription for me?
The PSA? Simple. Patronize your local pharmacist. It might cost a couple more bucks, but at least when you walk into the corner drugstore, you'll get to speak to someone who'll look you in the eye, pay attention to your problem, no matter how minor it may be, and take steps to correct the situation.
There's a diatribe lurking here about "outsourcing" jobs, but I don't begrudge a bunch of Indians their minimum wages for working the phones. I just wish they'd quit calling me.
At first, I was cordial with them, and patiently explained that she hasn't lived at my unlisted telephone number since October, 2003. After speaking with her about this recurring annoyance, I gave the callers her new phone number, and requested that they change and update their database.
When the calls continued, my demeanor deteriorated into snarls of "How did you get this number?" That worked the first time, and discombobulated the poor Hindu on the other end of the line. The second and third times, I got replies that were essentially sales pitches for the online service that can't shoot straight. Now, as I did a few minutes ago, I just hang up without comment. This will never end.
Here's the funny part: the people who persist in ringing up The Possum Den are a bunch calling itself "Online Pharmacy." The ex-Mrs. Wombat requires certain prescriptions for her thyroid and other middle-aged ailments. I suppose it's sensible enough to purchase these drugs from an online vendor.
Think about it, though. Here is a bunch of people who can't correct a wrong telephone number in their database, and you're going to trust them to supply you with medications? Some folks need medicine to sustain their lives, and the proper administration of that medicine is tricky business; a correctly filled prescription can be a matter of life and death. The wrong dosage can be toxic.
So, here's this gang selling drugs on the internet, and they can't get a telephone number right, after being told for over a year that it's the wrong number. I'm sure it's all legal and above-board, the callers are always polite, and I've been chided for snarling at poor working stiffs doing their jobs. Still, would you trust people like this to dispense an aspirin to you? Once, when preparing to give out Mrs. Wombat's new phone number, I asked rhetorically "Have you got your pencil ready?" The person on the other end of the line told me earnestly that they don't keep pencils at hand for noting database adjustments. Every time I've been cordial with these folks, they assure me that they'll make the necessary adjustments to the database. The next day, or sometimes again that same day, the phone will ring, and someone will ask to speak to Mrs. Wombat.
"Online Pharmacy." I have no idea how many people are out there on the Internet calling themselves the "Online Pharmacy." I suppose I should be grateful for their calls; otherwise, I might go for days and not know if my phone is working.
Still, it makes me wonder. If they can't get a phone number right, would I want them to fill a prescription for me?
The PSA? Simple. Patronize your local pharmacist. It might cost a couple more bucks, but at least when you walk into the corner drugstore, you'll get to speak to someone who'll look you in the eye, pay attention to your problem, no matter how minor it may be, and take steps to correct the situation.
There's a diatribe lurking here about "outsourcing" jobs, but I don't begrudge a bunch of Indians their minimum wages for working the phones. I just wish they'd quit calling me.
posted by Robert at 2:03 PM
5 Comments:
And would you also like a grape slushee with that?
(Sorry, no sacred beef jerky...)
Thank you, come again!
Caller ID, anyone?
I've been pretty lucky with telemarketers; probably 1 call per week.
Your local druggist can make mistakes too! Always check your dosages, etc. I do support my small town pharmacy, but I've learned to be careful.
I got a great call at my church office yesterday. From someone wanting to come by and sell me something. "Too busy, just drop it in the mail," I suggested. Then they wanted me to give the name and address and even the telephone number they were calling. I told them "Booger Holler State Prison, highway 1"
Fortunately, I don't get calls like that. I just get dozens of calls from charities and political action committees, etc. Sometimes I want to say bad things to them... but with great patience, I refrain.
Post a Comment
<< Home