Living in the rural Midwest, I sometimes miss the diversity of a large city. The people I see every day are mostly white, conservative, and most of them grew up here.
About a month ago, I was internally lamenting the local homogeneity, when my cell phone rang. It was yet another recorded person telling me in cheerfully artificial tones that they had been trying to reach me about my car’s warranty. I was about to hang up, when I realized that if I pressed ‘1’, I would be very likely be connected to someone in a different culture, in a different part of the world.
I pressed ‘1’.
In accented but perfect English someone calling themselves Mark took the call. They asked me what the year and model of the car I had was, and instead I said,”Hi Mark. I’m Antonia. I live on a very small farm, in a big, old wooden house. I have a garden. It is morning here. What time of day is it where you are?” He told me it was evening there, and then pressed me about my car details. I asked him if he lived in a large city. He hung up.
Since then, I have chosen to see every telemarketer, every scam phone call, as a way to talk to someone in a different culture. I don’t give too much personal information. I don’t want to be scammed. But I’ve found most of the people I talk to are just trying to make a living. Nearly every time I get hung up on pretty quickly, but sometimes we talk for a few minutes at least. Now and then I get someone who enjoys telling me about their life, and asks me about mine.
Years ago, I worked in a call center doing phone support for a cell phone company. I know what a soul-eating job it is. It left me with phone anxiety and a deep sympathy for anyone who needs to make a living that way. I also know that any small variation from the script is memorable. A funny or unusual call would be talked about during breaks, and would lift the whole day. I figure I’m at least making someone’s day a little less routine.
One of my favorite calls was with a scammer who relentlessly pressed me about my credit card info. He was charming and as dishonest as they come. He told me what country he was in, and that he was supposed to be saving money to get married but instead spent most of his earnings on clothes and prostitutes. He lived with his parents, and ended up telling me I would make a fortune in telephone sex- a business he wanted to start. I think he was trying to insult me, but it was amusing. I found out that his favorite foods were those made by his mother even though he loved eating out. He was obsessed with clothing and didn’t want to travel. He hated American cinema but enjoyed Downton Abbey.
Another woman, Ria, from India, told me she hated her job, but she had two small children and needed the money. She said that her job paid much better than any other job that was available to her. That surprised me. I told her that in the US, call center work was very low paying. She said that she knew that her work was dishonest (they were selling a ‘credit score restoration’ scheme) but that the credit card companies make so much money, and they have insurance so the people she takes from don’t lose anything at all. She said that she hung up on old people because she didn’t want to hurt anyone. She had eaten roti that morning, along with some lentils, and that was the same thing she had brought for her lunch. She was interested in what I was growing in my garden, and asked me how I made chicken noodle soup.
Today Arta from Manila called. She wanted to sell me insurance, but ended up telling me that she lived with her mother-in-law. She ate rice and eggs for breakfast this morning, rode a bicycle to work, and thought her husband smelled bad, like perfumed toilet paper, but she loved him anyway. She was hoping to have only one child, a girl, though she wasn’t yet ready to have kids. Maybe in a year or two. She had forgotten to bring her lunch today, so she was hungry and a co-worker had given her some fruit and bread. Her pay was her own to use as she pleased, but she was saving most of it. Her favorite thing to do on her time off was to go on bicycle rides. She mentioned musical artists who were not familiar to me.
I find that I no longer get so frustrated by the unending telemarketers, and that most hang up very quickly. The few that do stay on the line I enjoy. I hear the different cadences in their voices. I hear amusement, annoyance and confusion. I enjoy the thought that someone’s day is remarkable because they called my random number. I enjoy that in my minute way I am connecting with the world.