Telemarketers Had No Chance

I was nominated to host at my house for Thanksgiving. Since I live alone, I don’t always keep the cobwebs out of the corners and dust off of the pictures on the wall. It meant the cleaning crew of my kids and grandchildren decided to attack the accumulated dust and grime. It was amazing. Furniture was actually moved and rearranged. The refrigerator was pulled out and cleaned behind. Seven miniature cleaning tornadoes whirled through my house. The smell of cleaning products still linger.

What was I doing while my family was finding things to spit-shine? I was ensconced on my recliner sorting through a box of newspaper clippings, photographs, booklets, and souvenir pamphlets that were tucked under a desk. Stored with those things were tattered handmade cards, report cards, and even a story that I forgot I’d written. I’m waiting to read it when I’m less likely to be bored.

In the box were other keepsakes. I plan to distribute as many as I can to others. These personal items can clutter their homes. Some are souvenirs, photos, obituaries, funeral cards, and newspaper clippings and were accumulated by my wife’s mother Retha, and grandmothers Pearl and Mabel. I hope to pass them along to the kin and share a few on line. Now I will wait to see if the bait works. Maybe someone will want them and claim them. The military clippings, I’ll donate to the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society.

We talked and laughed as we worked. My kids were my guardians. It was difficult for me to move the paper-sorting project from my lap and climb out of my recliner when my telephone rang. My recliner’s in the living room and the phone’s in the kitchen. My daughters intervened and answered the calls. One telemarketer with a very pronounced accent asked to speak to me, mentioning my name. My youngest child Anna asked what the call was regarding, then before he could respond she rebuffed him saying, “If you’re a telemarketer, we’re on the no-call list,” and he hung up without another word.

When the second telemarketer called to take a poll, my other daughter Amanda answered the telephone. He was a little more persistent asking to speak with me. She fibbed by saying she was my nurse and I was asleep. The caller asked, when could he call back? She told him that “I was taking new medications and slept often. I have no idea when he might be awake.” My son-in-law Eric and daughter Anna were in the background saying, “Tell them he’s on hospice.”

Sheesh, I’m not young, but isn’t that a bit severe.