Back in college, I was suckered in by one of those “Make $9/hour working for the UCSB Alumni Fund!” flyers.  It was your standard telemarketing job…call college alumni and ask for money to fund all sorts of capital improvement projects like building new engineering buildings and updating the Clinique counters in the UCen.

What I didn’t know when I started was that the newbies - until they proved their sales acumen - got to call the most resistant group of potential donors…the parents of brand-new freshmen.  Of course I had a script, and I called parents in the evening saying all sorts of annoying things to develop rapport (”I’m a chemistry major, too!” “I’m a history major, too!“  “I live in Francisco Torres, too!“), because I knew everything about their kid from the index card in front of me.  I mean, these were tactics straight out of Influence.

One of my favorite memories of my one day on the job revolved around calling a family with a Hispanic surname in central California, only to find out none of them spoke English.  All I could think of was that this family was probably already sacrificing enough to send one of their children to college, who in the Hell did I think I was…asking them to give even more?  I think Mom said something similar in Spanish.

That same night, I called another family and asked to speak to the presumed father, because his name was on my handy dandy index card.  I was told he had died.  Ugh.  That was the nail in the coffin.  Sorry.  I didn’t go back the next day.  Telemarketing was not my thing.  I found I was much better suited to making money in college by sitting in an inocuous bank office, performing an inocuous bank job, making an inocuous bank wage.

So last night, CU and I were watching Dancing With the Stars and lo and behold…the UCSB Annual Fund gives me a call.  The young lady who confirmed my phone number and email address seemed pleasant enough, although she sounded about 14, and had trouble reading her script without giggling.  At one point I heard someone (I presume) talking to her, because she would giggle when he stopped speaking.  Really?

After she finished her schpeel, she asked me if I would be willing to contribute to the next generation of UCSB greatness (yes, she really said that) by making a donation.  At that point, something snapped in my head.  Now, CU and I have discussed becoming patrons of our respective schools.  We’re in a position now where we can give back financially.  But…I also knew that if I pledged money, Chatty Cathy on the other end was going to get a commission…and I just couldn’t give her that.  I know it’s college, and I know she’s young…but you don’t get to make money off of me just by reading a script and struggling with the phrase “community service organization.”  So, I declined and said I’d donate the next go-around.

A case could definitely be made that I am punishing the students of UC Santa Barbara simply because I didn’t like the demeanor of the young woman or the words spoken…right before she asked me to comply with her request to donate money.  Fair enough.  But, I’m not going to let her benefit if she was dumb enough to show zero respect for my time by not at least pretending to be engaged in the sales process.

In retrospect, I should have asked her why she was calling me during Dancing With the Stars.  I’m fairly sure her binder of Scripted Answers wouldn’t have had one for that particular question.