Roger, Roger

I’ll feeling ambitious today, so this may become a Multiple Post Monday (MPM, all rights reserved.) But then again, I’m feeling hungry, too. So rather than guaranteeing a multitude of funny today, any free time I get may end up devoted to seeking out a cruller or a bearclaw or some other incredibly bizarre name for a breakfast pastry. Somebody’s gotta be making up these names. I want to be that person.

But, no there’s no time to be the next great bakery naming wizard of my generation. Why, you may ask? That’s easy. I’m stuck on the phone.

In the land of cell phones and Caller ID, an incoming ring can be identified near-instantly. In fact, most people have so many of their circle programmed into their phones that actually KNOWING someone’s phone number in an emergency is a feat equal to having exact change for the Metro. When the phone rings, you can be greeted by a person’s name, perhaps a photo of them, or in a measure that’s Condon-approved, a picture of the caller’s cell phone. And from these identification features, one can be sure that they never get roped into a call that they want no part of.

Unless…

On the rare occurrence that your cell phone pops up as an actual phone number – congratulations, you’ve entered no-man’s land. Without a name or picture to make your pick-up decision a cinch, you are left pondering with or not to test these unknown waters. For four long, long rings. So when a 202 (DC) area code showed up in the middle of a workday, I took the foolishly optimistic response and made one big fateful mistake. ”Hello?”

A great comedy troupe once said that no one expects the Spanish Inquisition. Well, a half-decent comedy blog now asks if when the Inquisition gets off work, do they cold call on behalf of the Kennedy Center? Oh, I think they do…

The Kennedy Center, for those outside the DC Metro region, is a beautiful center for the musical arts - just a stone’s throw from the Watergate Hotel. (Please, don’t throw stones near the Kennedy Center. They have many breakable windows. And your aim is terrible.) And since I took Katie to a National Symphony performance one Valentine’s Day long ago, I guess that would makes me a patron, now wouldn’t it?

Did I say patron? I meant sucker.

Roger at the Kennedy Center has called me for two reasons. One – to convince me to buy tickets for a concert series schedule for March-May 2006. Two – to prove once and for all that Roger is the best telemarketer on the face of the earth.

First off, Roger speaks with a refined, “I work at the Kennedy Center, I’m no schmo” kind of voice. You can’t argue with a guy whose English is light years beyond your own. He’ll pull some SAT vocabulary on you so fast, you won’t even get to say, “Sorry, I am not interested in booking tickets for next summer, I don’t even know what I’m doing this weekend.” Furthermore, his product, tickets to a four-performance concert series, requires more than a two-bit sales pitch. Before I know it, I’m being showered down upon with names or acclaimed soloists, featured performers, acclaimed conductors, and obscure musical selections from Russia, Germany, and anywhere but my mp3 player. Each pitch – about 6 minutes long, before I can get a word in edgewise. I heard 3 of them.

Here’s the problem. I have no intention of allocating 460 dollars for orchestra seats for next time next year. Even as I realize it’s a great deal and if I had the money, I’d be wise to do it, there’s no way Roger is going to get my credit card today. But how does one hang up on the arts? I mean, someday I may want to take part in such a deal. Alright Roger, it’s time to get clever.

“Roger, I appreciate the call, but I don’t have my calendar in front of me. Would you mind calling me back on Saturday and I’ll be able to let you know?”

Guess whose name just got entered in my cell phone?