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Call Me Disturbed

As I sat peacefully in my chair the other evening, quietly pondering the meaning of life, the Universe, and everything in it (actually I was thinking about pension plans) my thoughts were rudely interrupted by the shrill bark of the telephone. I am referring to the landline telephone in our house, a device so archaic that it has only one ringtone, it cannot display who is attempting to make contact, and does not permit one to put it into silent mode so that it merely rumbles politely when someone is calling. Upon lifting the receiver, I was greeted by the over-familiar welcome of an ambitious telesales executive, who proceeded to ask after my health and general well-being in order to soften me up before moving in for the kill (telemarketing speak for selling something to somebody that they neither want or need, usually for an extortionate price).

Now I would usually have thanked the caller and said my goodbyes at this point, however this particular person said they were calling from WHSmith regarding my clubcard, so I decided to hear them out in case it was anything significant; for example a ten pence credit voucher towards my next purchase of £50 or more. Bizarrely enough, the phone call was an attempt to sell me the option of medical insurance with six months interest free cash-back, all of this against a clubcard which has been dormant for over 3 years. At this point I did decided to end the call, firstly because I didn't like the sound of what I was being offered, and secondly because I had only ever used the card whilst at University, and certainly never since.

I am happy to say that as I hung up the receiver, I didn't feel a single gram of guilt or sympathy about the fact that I may have just brought a premature end to the career of the caller. These people live on a knife edge, constantly looking over their shoulder for the next hot-shot who can sell slot machines to Saudi Arabia or European history books to the USA , however I cared not as I returned to my chair. What gives them the right to call my home of an evening and attempt to solve problems that I don't even have; I wouldn't mind if they were able to offer me a solution to something that I was actually worrying about.

As I relaxed once again I began to reflect on what had just happened, and became rather disturbed by it all. What has become of WHSmith; is it so deluded by its lack of high street identity that is has resorted to selling medical insurance over the telephone? I am fairly certain that if I wandered into my local branch and asked the sales assistant for some information about their medical insurance packages, I would be offered a comforting arm and a stiff drink in the hope that it might bring me back to reality.

The truth is that lately I have been giving serious thought to setting up a pension plan, and as such have been open to ideas and suggestions about which is the best option for me. Now had WHSmith (or similar company) have called up with some sensible solution to my problem, I may well have taken a serious interest in their offer, however instead they chose to tackle an issue which doesn't currently concern me.

As I lay back in my chair I was blessed with a vision which showed my pension payments being put into a large wicker basket and growing exponentially to the tune of a Pet Shop Boys record. Just as I was settling into this pleasant dream about my golden years I was blasted with a shot of realism. The basket had disappeared and in its place I could see a plucky young executive at the pension company, squandering my funds on cocktails and loose women while listening to a Four Tops tribute act in downtown Acapulco . At this point I decided to switch on the television in the hope of being enticed by new opportunities, only to be dealt the usual cruel hand when the advert break came around.

Each time I sit down to watch television I am faced with a number of adverts which offer solutions to problems I don't have, and yet there is never just what I am looking for (in this case the golden ticket to a happy retirement). If I want a high-interest loan to pay off my existing loans and credit cards, or an irritable ringtone which is supposed to sound like a frog, then I am in luck, but otherwise I am wasting my time.

Maybe the future lies with interactive advertising packages, where you press the red button on your television remote (which also doubles as the household phone and the dishwasher remote) to bring up a list of possible adverts - lets say by subject area for arguments sake. The next step would be to view the relevant adverts, for example all the material which falls in the category 'money - loans - high interest', decide which you like the look of, and finally you would select the 'call me back' option at the end of the advert. Surely it would be better than ringing people at random to offer products that don't even make sense.

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