I have had a long and illustrious career with the Benicia Herald. My first job was as a paper delivery girl—or an independent information distributor, as I liked to call myself. I was such a shining star at this job—possibly the best the Herald’s ever seen. I porched every paper. Every one! I assumed that, with such outstanding service, the amount I would collect in tips from grateful customers would allow me to retire early. With the naiveté of youth, I assumed the Herald would be overwhelmed with calls of appreciation from my clients.
One person called in to the paper to thank me. That one person tipped me.
I quit after one summer. This town was not ready for my paper delivering prowess.
There is another reason this job didn’t work for me. My mom was a tad overprotective when I was growing up. When I was in fifth grade, my friend and I wanted to walk home from school once a week. My mom let us, but she followed behind us in her car. That was a little embarrassing when I was ten. When I was fifteen, and my mom insisted on following behind me in her car as I ran to each house delivering papers, it was reputation destroying.
A few years later, I again worked for the Herald—this time as a telemarketer selling the Martinez News
Gazette. I hated this job.
I knew when I took the job that people would hate me when I called, but it’s hard to find a minimum wage job for the summer. No one wanted to hire me when they found out I’d be leaving in a couple of months for college. Still, I tried to be respectful. Here’s how I delivered my spiel:
Hi, this is Kirstin from the Martinez News Gazette. [Loaded pause so listener can tell me he’s not
interested.]
I’m calling because we have a special for re-subscribers. [Loaded pause. Please end my monologue now
and say you’re not interested.]
You can re-subscribe for half price. [Loaded pause. Now. Now. Now.]
Are you interested?
Then what would the listener say? No! I’m not interested! Why didn’t he say that during one of the pregnant pauses and save us both from the endless boredom of living through the entire spiel?
I worked with an elderly woman who also labored with me in the Herald office pedaling the Gazette. I was a terrible salesman—partly because the job bored me, and partly because I was too much of a wuss to be pushy. My older coworker was really good at it, though, and she liked to mock me. She often wandered into my part of the office and asked, “How many re-subscribers did you get?” I typically got one or two, totally by accident. Apparently there are people out there just wishing someone would call them and ask them if they want to buy the Gazette.
“I got eight,” she’d tell me. “Wow, you only got two? Oh. Well.” Then a couple of minutes later: “Only
two?”
It was a little humiliating to have someone old enough to be my grandmother slam-dunk me every night.
Sometimes people were so cruel. One lady listened to me deliver my whole speech before responding, “Hold
on. Let me get my husband.”
I thought that meant I was about to make a sale. I delivered my speech again, and then what happened? The
husband chewed me out! He went on and on about the evils of the Martinez News Gazette and telemarketers.
I was seventeen and just trying to earn a buck. And his nasty wife! She set me up! Crotchety old couple. So I called them back three more times that evening and hung up on them. If I still had their number, I’d do it again
now.
Some people were kind, though. Once I talked to an older woman who said she wasn’t interested in buying
the paper, but her friend might be. She called her friend and then called me back. She told me her friend wasn’t interested, but then we chatted happily on various topics for twenty minutes or so. It was the highlight of my day, until she said her TV show was starting, so she had to go. I wanted to ask if I could call her back when it was over. Or maybe the next night. Or any evening she was free between five and eight.
Now, I’m really nice to sweet little telemarketers like me. I wait for their pregnant pauses and politely put them out of their misery. I’m still annoyed by the pushy ones, but I try to be nice to them, too. I remember those hours of
boredom and the crotchety couple, and I take pity on them.
I tip my paper delivery boy, too.
But he doesn’t porch it.
And I’ve never even met his mother.
One person called in to the paper to thank me. That one person tipped me.
I quit after one summer. This town was not ready for my paper delivering prowess.
There is another reason this job didn’t work for me. My mom was a tad overprotective when I was growing up. When I was in fifth grade, my friend and I wanted to walk home from school once a week. My mom let us, but she followed behind us in her car. That was a little embarrassing when I was ten. When I was fifteen, and my mom insisted on following behind me in her car as I ran to each house delivering papers, it was reputation destroying.
A few years later, I again worked for the Herald—this time as a telemarketer selling the Martinez News
Gazette. I hated this job.
I knew when I took the job that people would hate me when I called, but it’s hard to find a minimum wage job for the summer. No one wanted to hire me when they found out I’d be leaving in a couple of months for college. Still, I tried to be respectful. Here’s how I delivered my spiel:
Hi, this is Kirstin from the Martinez News Gazette. [Loaded pause so listener can tell me he’s not
interested.]
I’m calling because we have a special for re-subscribers. [Loaded pause. Please end my monologue now
and say you’re not interested.]
You can re-subscribe for half price. [Loaded pause. Now. Now. Now.]
Are you interested?
Then what would the listener say? No! I’m not interested! Why didn’t he say that during one of the pregnant pauses and save us both from the endless boredom of living through the entire spiel?
I worked with an elderly woman who also labored with me in the Herald office pedaling the Gazette. I was a terrible salesman—partly because the job bored me, and partly because I was too much of a wuss to be pushy. My older coworker was really good at it, though, and she liked to mock me. She often wandered into my part of the office and asked, “How many re-subscribers did you get?” I typically got one or two, totally by accident. Apparently there are people out there just wishing someone would call them and ask them if they want to buy the Gazette.
“I got eight,” she’d tell me. “Wow, you only got two? Oh. Well.” Then a couple of minutes later: “Only
two?”
It was a little humiliating to have someone old enough to be my grandmother slam-dunk me every night.
Sometimes people were so cruel. One lady listened to me deliver my whole speech before responding, “Hold
on. Let me get my husband.”
I thought that meant I was about to make a sale. I delivered my speech again, and then what happened? The
husband chewed me out! He went on and on about the evils of the Martinez News Gazette and telemarketers.
I was seventeen and just trying to earn a buck. And his nasty wife! She set me up! Crotchety old couple. So I called them back three more times that evening and hung up on them. If I still had their number, I’d do it again
now.
Some people were kind, though. Once I talked to an older woman who said she wasn’t interested in buying
the paper, but her friend might be. She called her friend and then called me back. She told me her friend wasn’t interested, but then we chatted happily on various topics for twenty minutes or so. It was the highlight of my day, until she said her TV show was starting, so she had to go. I wanted to ask if I could call her back when it was over. Or maybe the next night. Or any evening she was free between five and eight.
Now, I’m really nice to sweet little telemarketers like me. I wait for their pregnant pauses and politely put them out of their misery. I’m still annoyed by the pushy ones, but I try to be nice to them, too. I remember those hours of
boredom and the crotchety couple, and I take pity on them.
I tip my paper delivery boy, too.
But he doesn’t porch it.
And I’ve never even met his mother.
