On behalf of the telemarketers across the world this is a cry for help. Put yourself in the shoes of a telemarketer. Everyone hates you and you have to talk to everyone, every single day. Your facebook fan page has zero fans; however the "I hate telemarketers" fan page has thirty six million seven hundred and forty-three fans, and on the upswing (I just joined as well). When people ask you, “How would you feel if I came over to your house and interrupted your dinner?” You have to hide the immense joy you would get from a person actually talking to you at dinner (conversation is conversation beggars can’t be choosers).

You sit in a chair all day in a quarter sized desk surrounded by other people who hate you (yes all telemarketers hate other telemarketers because when they get home for dinner guess who calls them?); calling people all over the country who hate you infinitely as much. The best part of your day is a hello from the other side of the call which is then followed by a screech of obscenities that can only be described as a verbal genocide…squared. Which starts the process of over the top objections and rebuttals until the customer must think that you honest to God were born with three percent of a brain (and still only using ten percent) and then dropped straight onto your head on Dr. Evil’s spiked floor of his secret super villain lair! What’s the worst part about all of this you may ask? That was the most pleasant conversation you will have all week.

When you go out in public you have to be careful to not have the look or sound of a telemarketer because that will make people sprint faster than Usain Bolt (unless it is Usain Bolt in which case he runs so fast he actually breaks the time space continuam and ends up in 1865) away from you faster than any one person has ever seen; besides you but you don’t count because you’re not a person, you’re a telemarketer (it’s a thin line but a line nonetheless). Socially you are forced onto a lonely pedestal on which no soul wants to climb. You are left alone, all possible friends and your desired sex refuse to give you their numbers out of fear their dinners will be disturbed.

After long days of death threats, verbal assassinations, and people shrieking in terror and running away from you, it can get to a person telemarketer after awhile (mainly because this is only half your day). That’s okay though because you have accepted this as a way of your life. All you need now is a couple cheesy gordita crunches and a lonely booth at taco bell —that comes with free complimentary evil glares form the workers— to get you through the rest of your day. What happens though as you start to bite into your delicious taco bell? You get a phone call; you are overcome with excitement that you may get to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t have a passionate prejudice against you. As jumpy as a six year old ADHD child on Christmas you answer the phone and say, “Hel (clear throat) hello?” What do you hear in reply? “Hi, this is Adam with Golden Globe Marketing and I’m calling to ask you about your satisfaction with your long distance service?”  All of a sudden it happens, everything builds and builds until you spontaneously combust into a mushroom cloud of Boston Globe headlines and Direct TV commercials.

Telemarketers have it rough too. They know what it’s like to have their meals disturbed. They know how it feels to have hard days and they know how you feel when you yell at them in order to destroy years of pent up frustration. But they also know how to make sure nice polite people’s numbers get removed from a list and how to make sure the reincarnation of Mussolini on the other line gets called more and more.