Ann
Ipock
Humorist,
author, speaker
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Georgetown
Times
Unqualified for
phone surveys
By Ann Ipock February
23, 2005
The strangest thing happened last week. I got two telephone survey calls
back-to-back, and I didn’t meet either of their qualifications.
I know what you’re thinking because I thought the same thing: What
qualifications? I just figured you had to be a willing fool with a telephone.
Some folks screen calls to avoid telephone solicitation, but not me. The
minute I realize someone is “soliciting” I politely decline
and hang up. I refuse to be held prisoner in communications by a few pestering
marketers — though I’ve always been tempted to say, “Tell
you what. Why don’t you give me YOUR phone number and I’ll
call YOU back at an inconvenient time.”
The thing was, I recently got some mail stamped “IMPORTANT!”
from the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, hereafter referred
to by me to as “The Center.” It explained that our family
had been “specially selected” to take part in a phone survey.
Normally dubious, I was surprisingly flattered; (sucker, though I can
be). The more I studied the letter, the more impressed I became. It seemed
mysterious and official — government-like, as if I’d been
included in an elite group. The letter contained instructions to stay
on the phone when the call came for a quick and easy survey.
So, when the call came two weeks later, I decided “Why not?”
thinking I could be a good sport. What harm could it be? I told the woman
(perhaps too eagerly) that I had been expecting her call, and I did indeed
have some free time in which to be interviewed. However, the “few”
minutes the letter promised dragged into 15 minutes as I answered boring
and generic questions; nothing at all delicate or highly confidential,
as I’d expected. She began by asking me how many people lived in
our home; then, our age, gender and race.
In the final category, I had six choices, which she read out loud. I stopped
her after the first choice — which was the right one — but
she said standard policy was to state each choice. She continued reading
numbers two through six. Now I was positive this was the work of the government!
I rolled my eyes as she went through this scenario three times; for me,
Russell (my husband) and Katie (our daughter, a college junior). This
was getting monotonous. I couldn’t help but wonder what was next.
After getting our family “stats” right, she asked me how many
telephones we had. It seemed so irrelevant. Frankly, I couldn’t
see the correlation between telephones and gram positive bacteria, unless
you could catch a disease from the bacteria on your phone. Was that it?
I wondered.
So, I began tallying up our cell phones and land lines out loud, “Well,
let’s see. We have three cell phones. We have — ” but
she didn’t let me finish. She said emphatically. “How many
telephone numbers does your home have, connected to a jack in YOUR WALL?”
I wanted to say, “Standard policy is I count them all!” but
I didn’t have the nerve.
She should explain in detail what she wanted before she asked —
don’t you think? Finally I said, “One,” sounding pitiful.
“One?” she said, “Sorry, you don’t qualify. Thank
you!” Click. And that was it. She hung up without so much as a goodbye,
better luck next time, or your consolation prize is in the mail.
This makes me wonder, what does it take to qualify? And though this isolated
incident may seem bizarre by normal standards — there’s more!
Before my rejection had settled in, the phone rang again. I am not making
this up. This time it was a woman saying she was with the Gallup poll
and could I answer a few simple questions. Funny thing, I had always wanted
to be included in a Gallup poll— or maybe even the Nielsen Ratings!
Was this my lucky day?— not so far.
My excitement must have shown. What am I saying? I was downright easy
— a survey pushover. “Shoot,” I said to her, almost
giddy. “Excuse me?” She asked. I said, “I mean, fire
away, I’m all yours,” smiling from ear to ear. Next, I thought
I heard a snort — a nasally laughing sound. Unlike the lady with
“The Center,” the only personal question she asked me was,
“Are you over age 18?” I almost said, “Yeah, three times
that much,” but that wasn’t true and no woman in her right
mind exaggerates her age.
Next, she asked me how often I shopped at a certain mega-giant, super-savings
store. Hint: They did not build in Murrells Inlet, and Chevy Chase’s
car ended up in their parking lot in the movie “Christmas Vacation.”
Her second question was when was the last time I had visited that store.
This was really freaky — because I had just left there two hours
ago. I wondered if she secretly knew this, but how? She continued, “Which
location, John’s Island?” (which made absolutely no sense).
I wanted to scream, “In the Twilight Zone, which I’m in right
now!” She cleared this up, saying, “Which location, which
town?”, dragging out the word “towwwwwwwnnn” and sounding
awfully irritated. I replied, “Surfside Beach.” After several
seconds, she located the store on her list. I thought, “Finally,
we’re getting somewhere.” But she must have been in cahoots
with “The Center” caller. At that moment, she apologized,
saying, “Sorry, you don’t qualify. That store’s recently
been polled.” I hung up with an audible gasp, shook my head and
blinked back a tear.
It’s a sad occasion for a willing fool with a telephone to be rejected
by a telemarketer, but to have it happen twice in one day? I can only
hope the Nielsen folks will be easier on me.