KEY POINTS:
Good evening, my name is Dale and I'm calling on behalf of Obvious & Obvious Research - can I please speak to the person in the house who has the next birthday and is over 13, does the supermarket shopping from time-to-time, is right-handed, traditionally votes Labour but is considering rethinking that position, is in gainful-employment, worries about his or her weight, drives a people-mover and is a Hurricanes supporter?
I mutter something about how that seems to be me but that it's kind of a bad time because I'm cooking dinner while trying to help the kids with their homework, while watching the news on TV, while contemplating the long-term effects of global warming.
Dale seems not to be put off by my impressive multi-tasking. "We're doing a quick telephone survey on behalf of the Direct and Unsolicited Marketing Board on public perceptions towards cold-call telephone surveys. Would you be willing to answer a few quick questions to help us with our survey?"
Foolishly, I ask how long this survey will take, already falling into Dale's fiendishly-constructed plot to ensnare me in pointless time-wasting conversation at a time when I have none to waste. "Just a few minutes - thank you for your time.
Now, for training and security reasons this conversation is being recorded, so please refrain from using offensive or insulting language towards me or saying things that hurt my already-low self-esteem as this survey drags past the half-hour mark."
And before I can interject to call a halt to proceedings, because I am simultaneously trying to mash potato and answer homework questions I don't know the answers to about the behavioural patterns of flying fish, Dale hurries on.
"How would you rate your experience of receiving unsolicited telephone calls at your home number in order to ask you obscure questions about things you care not a jot for? Is it: the highlight of your otherwise pointless existence?
An essential element of the valuable contribution consumer research makes toward improving life on this planet? Something that makes you weep with pride at being a New Zealander? Or a holy task, ordained by God himself?"
I try to suggest to Dale that "none of the above" would be the answer for me. He tells me that "none of the above" is not an option but he can call back any time, day or night, if I'd prefer - it makes no difference to him, so maybe I'd like to re-think my answer.
I go with the "pointless existence" option, hoping the irony gets through. It doesn't, as Dale ploughs on. "Most unsolicited calls to households are made, for very sensible statistical analytical reasons, during the early evening. Does receiving one of these calls at this time of the day make me feel as if I am "contributing to the advancement of humanity? Come as the highlight of my otherwise dull and meaningless life? Provide me with intellectual stimulation? Give rise to fascinating dinner-table conversation with the rest of the family?"
Again I try to suggest to Dale that "none of the above" would be my answer of choice here. There is an ominous silence before he quietly suggests that he knows my phone number - so finding out my address and many of my most intimate details can't be too hard - and maybe I'd like to keep things simple and just answer the question.
I go for the dinner-table option, as it seems the simplest way out. I hang up. Within a couple of seconds - certainly in a time much too fast for human fingers to be doing the dialling - the phone starts ringing again. I let it ring, until it stops.
Then it starts again. My family are asking why I'm not answering the phone. I tell them it's important that no one answers the phone in the foreseeable future. The phone stops ringing. And my cellphone starts ringing. I let it ring - this can't be coincidence. It's like something from a Stephen King novel. I know, in my waters, it is Dale on the other end of the line. The phone stops ringing.
A few seconds later it beeps. The message icon appears. I listen to the message. "Hello dear, it's Mum. I've just been talking to an old friend of yours - Dale, is it? What a lovely man, said he'd been trying to get in touch with you but your phone must have stopped working for some reason. He said he'd keep trying and trying and trying. I told him to call round dinner time; that you're usually home round then. He said that was an excellent idea."
And then the phone falls from my hand as the knocking on the door starts.
