(I’ve used that title before, but it’s worth a repeat airing given the context.)
Those who have encountered me in the flesh will know me as something of a preternaturally old git, in terms of my curmudgeonly attitudes at least. Physically, I’m still relatively young-looking, and am still incapable of growing a REAL beard (my current lame attempt is sub-Timberlakian in its wispiness), although on the other (wrinklier) hand, my back has been giving me some grief in recent weeks due to a combination of the cold weather and over-enthusiastic deployment of my “widowmaker” forehand in table-tennis matches.
But no amount of old gittiness in the world justified the phone call I received about 10 minutes ago;
- (Ring ring) “Hello?”
“- Hello, Mr Tafkass? [Slow, deliberate voice as if addressing a six-year-0ld] This is Sharon calling from Geriatro-Rob. Do you remember we called you a couple of weeks ago to talk about your mobility? Your MOBILITY? [A total lie, by the way; I’d never had a call from them. Her assertion was obviously a cold-call tactic designed to sow doubt in the mind of an ageing respondent; pretty underhand, really] Well, we’re happy to tell you that you’ve qualified for a free assessment! One of our sales sharks, AHEM, highly-trained representatives can come to your home any time you like, morning afternoon or evening. It’ll only take 10 - 15 minutes, and you could qualify for one of our SPECIAL PROMOTIONS!”
At this point, I gave the game away, blustering “Just how old do you think I am? What database(*) have you got my name from? I’m 35, for heaven’s sake!” - and this was met with an extremely hasty “Sorry, goodbye (click - buzz…..)”.
Of course, what I should have done was to play along; put on my reedy 40-fags-a-day-for-life voice and keep her talking for 15 - 20 minutes with some inconsequential ramblings about the good old days when you could leave your front door open and there weren’t any immigrants or paedophiles and oooh! Isn’t that Russell Brand awful, and you can’t see a white doctor any more, they’re all terrorists now and the Post Office has shut down and it was all different during the war and why can’t I heat my house any more and what happened to the Light Programme and I remember when this was all Gracie Fields (etc etc)….
I could even have booked an appointment - it would have been illuminating to see whether their rep actually offered me a discount on a stairlift, or whether his Stannahs of professional conduct were higher than that…. (geddit? Oh never mind.)
(* - I am curious as to how they’ve pitched me in the well-over-60s demographic; it’s quite possibly because I’ve recently been ordering quite a few black and white films for my grandmother. Or it might just as easily be the preponderance of dad-rock CDs I order for myself.)
This entry was posted on Monday, December 8th, 2008 at 1:01 pm and is filed under Fatuous comments and ridiculous generalisations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.


I’ve seen your “beard”, and I think it’s 3-Mobile-esque in terms of its patchy coverage. And I consider that to be a very hirstute observation.
I wonder whether they got their demographic database from the same people who keep asking me if I want a penis extension.
I think internet activity these days does have more of an effect than it used to, now that everything’s monitored. I’m sure that half the dodgy spam I get is because Google have kept an eye on my YouTube account, noted that the vast majority of what I’ve been watching over the last six months has been bellydancing and (more recently) burlesque dancing videos, decided I’m a pervy old man, and consequently sold my details to every provider of herbal Viagra in the world.
“…decided I’m a pervy old man”…. You (and they) are overlooking the obvious sapphic angle. Not that I’m suggesting you’d ever don your shorts / skimpy towel combo for the opposition, as it were…
Unless they start sending me adverts for Katy Perry CDs, I’ll probably keep assuming they think I’m a dirty old codger.