Through the wringer

One of the lines from a song by pop group Abba went: ‘Ring, ring, why don’t you give me a call?’ These words have taken on an ominous turn today. For the telemarketer of today, giving you a call is, well, a calling. So at all odd hours, like for example, when you are taking a well-earned snooze on Sunday, your neighbourhood marketer will offer you anything from a home loan to a new spouse. “Never call again, you demented moron,” you will yell. “Have a good day” will come the response.

Now, you can register with the do-not-call registry, but will that deter our determined pursuers?

No siree, it just whets their appetite and, behold, when you are sitting pretty that you have got rid of your pesky caller at last, will come that dreaded ring offering the latest insurance package. You may have noticed that the caller from hell is usually anxious to get in all the information to be imparted in the few seconds before you hang up. So, he or she will gabble at the speed of light that that you will mistake for Javanese or Cameroonian. While you are figuring out what is being said, the caller will cunningly ask for your details.

It is now clear that we can no longer afford to dilly-dial about on this matter. One way out would be to take the fight into the other camp. No sooner does the phone ring, you could inundate the caller with a series of intrusive questions. As of now, there does not seem to be any light at the other end of the line. Makes you wish that Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder was literally and figuratively true.