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had several panic attacks. Prospects threatened us, screamed, swore endlessly, blasted air horns into the phone, or just lied transparently. One told a caller he'd hunt her down and kill her children. She dissolved into tears.

Lots of the people we'd get on the calls were crazy, drunk or high. Little kids would answer the phone and refuse to forfeit it. One kid said he couldn't call Mommy because she was in the shower with Uncle Dave. An old lady told me her husband couldn't come to the phone because he was constipated, she had given him a "physic" and he was on the toilet.

After I completed a detailed appeal for a certain good cause on one occasion, the woman on the line said simply, "What's this got to do with my Linens-and-Things credit card?"

Another man listened to me patiently, and then asked, "Tell me, do you know who's been stealing my paper off the porch?"

Rarely, a person would shock me by casually replying, "Sure, I'll give $5000, let me go get my Visa."

Then there were prospects that were fascinating, charming, heart-breaking or funny. I think I fell in love with a guy from California one night. I sobbed openly with a woman whose gay son's partner had been murdered the day before in a hate crime. Others educated or inspired me.

The political calls were my favorites. Prospects got fired up, angry and outraged. We had many lively debates. It was also tiresome and irritating to hear the same tired crap hundreds of times a day.

All through the '04 primaries, they repeated the excuse that they were waiting to see who the nominee would be. My standard comeback was, "Will you vote for Bush if your favorite doesn't win the nomination?"

Without exception they would scream, "Of course not."

Then I'd ask, "Well then what's the point of waiting?" They never had an answer.

A job like this wears on a worker. The performance quotas kept going up, more and more people demanded to be put on the do-not-call list, but most of all, they were simply sick of being called for money. I was sick of calling them. Management got more restrictive, adding to the astronomical stress level.

It's a relief to be gone. Co-workers call me sometimes and repeat the familiar litany of woes. I sympathize with them and think: better you than me.

Learn more about this author, C. K. Patrick.
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