I hate telemarketers.
They must detest me, too, judging by the way I hang up on them. I just don’t do telephone solicitations, especially when the call comes at dinner time and I’m fully engrossed in a meal.
It’s even worse around 9 p.m. when I’m into a hot movie. Once, I was awakened from a sound sleep around 10 when a voice at the other end wondered if I wanted a great deal on life insurance.
Had the caller been within arm’s length, he would have been the one who needed it.
So, it came with some reluctance when I was asked by my favorite charity to participate in a telethon. I would have preferred a root canal.
But since this was a special cause looking to help destitute kids with camperships, how could I refuse?
“Your support will make a big difference,” they told me. “We’ve been building strong kids inside strong communities for years.”
No introduction was necessary. I understood the cause. With money tight, fewer and fewer children will have the opportunity to attend camp this summer. Sounding such a public appeal, a little help could go a long way.
I felt awkward calling people that were near and dear to me. A better alternative was to approach total strangers.
I showed up the first night and was handed a special list of names. These were people in the $100,000 income range. “What a bonanza!” I thought.
Before I even began, out came a pen and a contribution from myself. How could I logistically approach others if I didn’t comply?
One call led to another and I was getting nowhere fast. The fact it was supper hour might have been an obstacle. Whether people were at home and had the answering machine take the message remains to be seen. Others are apt to screen every call they get to shun people like myself.
If they don’t know you, chances are you won’t get to know them.
A 5-minute spiel they handed me was exactly 4:30 too long. It starts out with a history of the organization and goes into the impact made over the past year as to why the campaign was necessary, to a Q&A.
If they were still on the line, the ritual then turned to record-keeping, how payment should be recorded, pledge or lump-sum contribution, and how the money would be distributed. If there was a steak on the grill, it would have burned to a crisp.
After five quick rejections, it was I who got the message. I tried using a little psychology in my approach by simply identifying the organization and asking for a small contribution toward a campership.
Truth of the matter was, some of these residents could have used some financial help. As the evening wore on, so did my nerves. I couldn’t believe how many were unemployed, crying poverty, or just in a complacent state.
Finally, I hit pay dirt. A woman took pity and volunteered a $10 donation. The first list was finally exhausted. Of the 20 names, I reached 10 and landed 1. Was I getting a taste of my own medicine when it came to telephone solicitations?
I wasn’t done. A second list was handed over with residents in the $75,000 range. Maybe I would have better luck with this category. I’ve heard it said that people with less give more. The weekend before, the Armenian National Committee of America (ANCA) had conducted its annual telethon and collected $2.5 million on TV from coast-to-coast over a six-hour period.
Granted, one individual donated $1 million and he did it anonymously, but for the most part contributions were triple digits with the names revealed. The result blew me away. Recession? What recession? If benefactors have that kind of money to give away, how bad is the economy?
One more call led to another. Of the 22 names, again only half responded and 1 other nibble came forth—another $10 gift. I had the feeling that the donor was one of these individuals who couldn’t say no.
I couldn’t blame them, especially with children in college, jobs at a premium, and the general cost of living exorbitant.
Before I subscribed to an anti-telemarketing offer, I was getting between three to five calls a day at all hours. Some of them contained a live voice. Others were simply a recording which didn’t get past the “hello.”
It made the telephone seem like a punishing device and really taxed my patience, never mind my wallet. After two hours of persistent calls, I received two contributions totaling $20 from some of the wealthiest people in my community.
It led me to believe that when it comes to giving charity over the phone, most people stop at nothing.
Tom Vartabedian
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