As college students most of us do not drive around in the latest Audis, Benzs, or Porches, unlike the rest of Boca Raton. I am also sure many of you have had your fair share of odd jobs to make ends meet. Recently I set out on a job search because my dad’s wallet decided it had had enough of my incessant sponging. I landed myself employment at a place I never pictured myself in a million years. I, Patrick Ceres, was a telemarketer.
I found the job through a flyer on campus describing the place as a telecommunications department. Being a journalism major, I decided to check it out and, being a broke college student, I decided to accept the position.
Getting hired was as simple as reading a script. I guess I read above a sixth grade level because I was sitting at a computer terminal that very afternoon. I never thought about the person who called and interrupted the family dinner until the moment when I was that person. If you have ever seen the movie Boiler Room, picture a ghetto room that smelled like wet socks and people without suits, and I was the star. The room was about the size of half a basketball court, and it was divided into cubicles so employees could sell newspapers somewhat privately. My trainer even reminded me of the movie with his sell-all attitude. He was so good he could probably sell glasses to a blind person.
When I was trained, I was told to be forceful and confident. “Don’t ask them, tell them we are sending them the paper!” Now, being forceful is not one of my strong points, all someone has to say is “please” and I crumble. I even let my crazy roommate borrow my car all last semester to “run errands” down in Liberty City. But I put that aside and decided to just do my best and see how things go.
After my trainer’s “go get ’em” lecture, I went into the office ready to work and mingle with my co-workers. To my surprise, the majority of people who worked there were elderly New Yorkers who were there because it was only for three hours in the evening and it gave them the opportunity to make a little extra money on the side.
How my job worked was, I was given a headset and assigned a station. Once I hit a button on the screen, it immediately called a phone number and a first and last name appeared along with the person’s address. On many occasions I became flustered and hung up on people because the computer started dialing another caller before I could put on my fake voice and sound like I really cared about selling the newspaper. My trainer was also the supervisor and he walked around the room getting people enough coffee to give them ADHD permanently while making sure people sounded energetic.
I talked to about 2,000 people in those two days. I am not exaggerating either, there was a counter on the screen. Granted, our conversations did not last for very long because most people hung up. Although I did have several interesting encounters. One lady was very concerned whether or not I had accepted the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I think I talked to her the longest because I am not supposed to hang up and she did not seem to want to let me go. Other people just decided that they did not speak English anymore even though they spoke it perfectly moments before. Some people thought cursing me out was fun. In general, people just did not seem to appreciate my services, so I decided to part ways and move on. In other words I left and never went back because that place made me sick to my stomach. As broke college students we may stoop low, but one must maintain some amount of dignity.
