Wicked Game

I have no tolerance for solicitors. I like to screw with them when they dare cross my boundaries. It's a little thing, but it brings me glee. Who knows, maybe I enrich their sorry little telemarketing lives by giving them an interesting story to tell over a beer. Here's one from the other day:


(Phone rings)
"Hello?"
(Cue overly cheerful voice)
"Good Evening! May I speak to John?"
"I'm sorry, he can't come to the phone."
"Is he home?"
"Some would say that."
"It's important that I speak with him. I have an exciting offer from the Seattle Times."
"Well, you could try a medium. Do you have a medium?"
"I... Do I have a... huh?"
"Well, unless you have a better way of contacting the dead...?"
"I...oh... I... uh..."
(click)


Here's another from months ago:


(phone rings)
"Hello?"
"Hi there! Is this the lady of the house?"
"Much to my mother's chagrin, I ain't no lady."
(*polite cough*) "Oh. I'm calling to offer you tickets to the Kirkland Firefighter's Ball."
"What?! They're raffling off their balls? Don't they need those?"
(*another polite cough*) "Um. No. Uh. I'm... um... the firefighters are having a ball, and you're invited to attend."
"And they have you calling around advertising for that?! Can't they get their own dates? Can I dance with the cute one? I don't know what I'll wear..."
"Oh! So you'd like a ticket?"
"Will there be a live band?"
"Why, yes!"
"Well, with all due respect to the firefighters, I'd rather have a date with the guitar player... see, I've always had a thing for guitar players..."
"No, you misunderstand, I'm not selling dates with..."
"Right, because that would be prostitution."
"Whu...?"
"This is sounding awfully risky. You're toying around with illegality here."
(*frustrated voice speaks very slowly*) "I'm selling tickets to the annual Kirkland Firefighter's Ball."
"I don't dance. I'm a vegetarian."
They hung up. *sigh* Some folks just have no imagination.