value-added gibberish
I hadn’t planned to post today, as I recover from the 49ers loss and prepare for
the LSU/Arkansas game, but I just had something happened that I wanted to
share.
A phone call awakened me from a particularly well-detailed dream in which
an old friend visited me in a vehicle that surfaced in a lake in my living room.
But it wasn’t just a submarine. It was street legal and actually did well on
mountain roads. And it was made out of cement. Go figure.
The call was from our former satellite TV provider, who wanted to know if we
would consider switching back. Coming out of my fog, the first word I latched
onto was “satellite”. I thought it was the technician from our new provider
calling about the service call next Tuesday.
So I said “The receiver downstairs doesn’t work but the one upstairs does. The
problem is apparently some gizmo gone bad in the dish.” This threw him so
far off script that he didn’t know what to say. As reality slowly seeped into my
head (an ongoing problem of mine), we finally connected and I realized that
I was just being hustled. I said the words I knew would most quickly end the
call — “three-year contract” — and we were done.
Having lived 59 years in the states, I am well aware of the value of gibberish.
Business people, bosses, celebrities, politicians and countless other Americans
spout it constantly. You won’t find a finer practitioner right now than Herman
Cain. Michelle Bachmann pales beside him.
Enjoy him while you can. His glorified book tour is about to end. What micro-
scopic chance he had to be president disappeared with his pig-headed response
to multiple charges of sexual harrassment.
Anyway, I learned today that gibberish, amusing in its own right, has another
usefulness. I’ve added it to my repertoire of ways to put off telemarketers I’ve
mistaken for calls I was expecting. I discovered another one when a caller in-
terrupted a Canucks game. I thought it was Jude, who was running late.
“May I speak to Allen, please?”, he asked.
“He’s not here,” I lied.
“Then may I speak to your mom or dad?”
“I doubt it. They’re dead.”
There was a substantial pause. I imagined him frantically searching through
his flow chart for a proper response. He couldn’t find one, so he ad libbed.
“Well, thanks, anyway. Have a nice night.” Then he stole off into the ether.
That’s the only time I’ve had a telemarketer hang up on me. Feel free to use
that one. My folks won’t mind. They always loved a good joke.
I hope your weekend goes especially well. I’m off to the upstairs and the LSU
game. Geaux, Tigers!
