My Friend, Deb Priestly of the Out of the Blue Art Gallery, has been having a hard time with money for much longer than I've been documenting here. She took up a telemarketing job, trying to sell theatre tickets. Despite sharing the same hatred for telemarketers that most of you have, I supported her and even planned to buy tickets from her.
Monday night, she targeted--I mean called--a mother of two, who told Debbie, more or less, "Look can you call back in forty-five minutes? I'm interested, but I have two kids to put to bed."
Deb replied, "Okay. I'm sorried to have interrupted you." Or words of similar blasphemy overheard by her manager, who called her over and informed her that Monday night would be her last night. Because she wasn't a big enough asshole.
Oh, well. She need to paint more. And the gallery's application for non-profit status was finally submitted last week. So screw it.
When I get the name of the company, I'm declaring boycott. Until then, if you share my anger, visit Deb's gallery and give her and Tom some love. And money. Love and money.
And belated kudos to fellow blogger John L. Roberson, a former telemarketer himself who seems to have pegged the occupation succinctly here in a chapter of his free graphic novel, Vitriol. Click here, and then keep clicking.
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