One of the thankless jobs that many of us have had—or continue to endure—is one wherein we are, at the very best, in a cubicle the likes of which make the one Dilbert inhabits look like a Byzantine palace. Or we may be sitting at a table with a multitude of other people, all of whom are thinking “Is this all there is?” while waiting for the shift to end and the angst to ebb. Meanwhile, the “supervisor” sits superciliously, ready to pounce on our least foible or major fuckup. Let’s face it: It is hard to get away from the latter, given what it is that we’re doing to earn the sort of money that even the denizens of McDonald’s would scoff at.
Yes, we’re talking about the telephone solicitor job. Read the script if you don’t get an immediate hang up. Handle objections by skipping to other passages. Hope like hell that you’re able to sign the suckers up for magazines or windows or whatever. Then dial it again. And again. And again. Yes, this is what you went to school for.
