The Bloody Doors Off

You know who I’m feeling bad for?

Mohammed.

Not the Prophet.

Just a guy named Mohammed.

He called earlier today.

No really.

He was a telemarketer peddling air duct cleaning services.

The poor man had to put up with my: “I have no ducts, only geese” joke before I hung up in his ear.

But it dawns on me just now.

This poor guy. Eight hours a day, at a rate less than minimum wage I’d bet, cold calling hundreds of people who abruptly click the red phone icon on their cell when they hear the reason for the call.

Less than minimum wage. Probably not his first language. Subjected to abuse and/or dumb humour.

And I think to myself: That’s not a job I’d ever want, or do. Like I’m too good for telemarketing.

How rude is that?

Welcome to my Ted Talk.