Crab Apple Tree wars and the Art of Telemarketing

When I was a little girl my brother ,C.J, my mother, and I would visit my grandparents in Pennsylvania. It was always a really good time because my second cousin(my mothers cousin: a late in life baby) lived just down the street. Christopher, my "cousin", would come and visit C.J and me while we were there and we would always have the best time doing things we weren't supposed to which always resulted in my grandfather yelling at us and he was really scary.



This one time, Christopher thought it might be fun if we all sat on top of the hot tub, with the cover on. Well here's the play-by-play on how that turned out... Christopher and I hopped on like two bullfrogs to a lily pad, C.J a '' husky'' kid gingerly (if at all conceivable), lowered himself on, but that's when trouble began. Ever see those type of movies that feature a high school gym with a retractable floor that uncovers the school's pool? Well, apply that scenario here. The cover began to slide under all our weight and was dipping into the center of the hot tub. Christopher and I, better so named, limber and agile, hopped off lickety split. Poor C.J, not so limber or agile, went sliding into the hot tub. Folded in half he sat there in the water asking for help quick! before grandpa comes. I won't forget how Christopher ratted him out when the commotion was heard and grew red in the face as he said, "C.J, did it." Grandpa was on him so fast, but that's not what I wanted to talk about anyway...



Crab apple trees grew in their front yard. Many summer and fall days were spent there in my grandparents front yard selecting crab apples. The three of us would collect them from the ground like squirrels gathering nuts and pile them in our designated fort areas. Sometimes when the supply was either low or mushy, we'd spend some time and pick off the few bearing trees in the yard. I can't recall how much time we spent that way, foraging for ammunition, but it never seemed like much. I have to say that I like em- crab apples that is. They have a weird shape, they're hard as a baseball if you get hit in the right place, and because they are small, you can't see them coming from a distance unless you pay extra close attention,and with more than one coming at your face, you don't have that kind of time, trust me on that one.

So there we would be, surrounded in crab apples and hocking them vigorously at each others heads. Ow, Ouch, and that teeth clenched tight, sucking in your breath, spit bubbling on your tongue noise you make when you burn yourself or stub your toe, those sounds were our battle cries. I don't really know why we liked to pelt each other so much with those damned things, the bruises they left weren't really neat-o or anything, but there was some kind of residual feeling of glee left over after I had hit my cousin and brother with them. A satisfied version of my previous self stood amongst them then, a big hoo-raw! to you crab apples.

It didn't matter if I had won or not, what was winning really? In the end I had taken more hits than I had given, but they had suffered a few hits too.

Okay, so where does telemarketing enter this picture? Honestly, I'm not so sure now that it really does. I sat there yesterday hard at work , dialing, waiting, and then saying is so-and so there. Whomever would answer with "yes hello," and I'd give them my spiel careful not to pause very long giving them opportunity for the premature, "oh, no thank you," which, 9 out of 10 times comes anyway. Actually, it's about 1 in 40 people that actually sign up for a tour of the resort that I offer them to attend to receive their totally awesome! package. Hard to beat those odds. What can I say- life isn't fair.

I have to do this job until I find something else, I wasted two years at Bridgewater State College- undecided major, and am now at Suffolk University busting my little behind. I have nothing to show for any of it so far, well save student loans and a few grades that in the very end mean little to nothing at all. So why do it? Because anyone on "the Cape'' knows, and if your not on "the Cape" listen up, you can't feed a family here without money, lots of money. To do that- you have to have a trade, which I am in short supply of, or a degree, ah here we find me, picking up the slack. So I call people, perhaps I call YOU. If it is you, please, don't hang up on me! I have solid reasons why I need you to give me that chance before hanging up on me. My job, it sucks first of all, second, my boss is bi-polar and scares the shit out of me, and third it's a hard business and my ass depends on how many appointments I set.

Well now, I guess that there would be my crab apple, my ability to hit you first. And that's because it's hard to make those appointments when after I say, Hi my name is Jenny and I am calling you with Ramada Inn Promotions of Cape Cod, and all I hear is, "blow tar" ( I have no idea what that meant), or "why are you waisting my time'', "take me off your list", or my personal favorite to date has to be, "go fly a kite." I'm sure the old lady who said that to me wasn't thinking of that great Mary Poppins "let's fly a kite" song, but rather was giving me the middle finger of words, the nicer version of " go F yourself Jenny." I could continue to list a whole lot of other rude and rather amusing things I have heard in this business, but that's not what I wanted or intended to talk about. Crab apples and telemarketing.... like I said, not sure of the correlation here, perhaps I should leave it to interpretation?

All I can offer now is this, I hope that my initial shot at "you", my phone call that is, hits you in a soft spot, are you wearing a sweatshirt? And I hope that you don't see the next crab apple coming, and I hope that one hits you a little harder. I hope that I whoop "you" in our little war of crab apple throwing. I hope that it ends with me saying, thank you for surrendering to my demands, I'll give you the plea bargain as promised, but you and I both know who's boss now, "I look forward to seeing you there"...

"You'' on the other hand, well you have the strength to hit harder, a hang up is impossible to bargain with. You hit me before I even see it coming, were you friends with my brother growing up? You may or may not know that you ultimately control our little game. It is I that must pussyfoot and dodge the bullet, to wear you down into submission, into a state that you are too tired to fight, and you surrender because in the end I am to quick for some of " you."

I guess that's all I really have to say about crab apple trees and telemarketing, it is a viscous war, and I really want out.