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Journal: The telemarketer

Journal by Julia Cameron
We have been on the DNC list since it was first established. That hasn't prevented the occasional telemarketer from bedevilling us. I take a daftie's approach with intrusive calls.

[Setting: The inglenuik off the kitchen. My teenage son, my son's friend, and I are eating a quiet dinner. The phone rings. I answer it.]

Me: Hello....

Telemarketer: Hi! My name is Jason. I'm from AT&T Wireless, and...

Me: AT&T. That's an American company if Ah'm no mistaken. Dae ye no realise you've called Scotland?

Telemarketer: Um... ah... But we're only dialing American numbers.

Me: Ah'm sittin' in ma wee hoose in a Hielan clachan. Ar' ye sellin' yer phones in th' Hielans th' noo?

Telemarketer: But...

Me: Haud yer wheesht! Dae ya think Ah dinnae ken whar ma hoose is, ya wee nyaff. Ye got yer numbers in a pure fankle. Mind an gies a break. Sort it oot an' dinnae call agin!

[The kids are doubled over with laughter, hands over their mouths to stifle the yowls.]

I ring off, and return to my dinner, gazing serenely out the window, enjoying the beauty of the sun sparkling over the water of Long Island Sound.

Asynchronous inputs are at the root of our race problems. -- D. Winker and F. Prosser