Spam Fritters

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I’m still out of blogging ideas, so here’s a tidied-up re-blog from 2009:

 

Don’t you hate those awful cold-calling companies? They have the temerity to call at dinner time and then make you wait before they speak to you. Old ladies are frightened by them and young ladies irritated. Whenever I hear that pause, I hang up; so be warned: if you phone me and don’t start speaking the second I answer, then you have wasted your money and you’ll have to call back, talking all the time.

Spud knows how the Hub and I feel about such calls and has suggested that we have some fun with them, thus turning a negative into a positive, like his father always says. One night as we were eating the inevitable call came, wanting us to buy a house, a phone, a spare cat…

Caller: Hello, can I speak to the phone owner?

Hub: I don’t have a phone.

Caller: … …

Hub: Hello?

Caller: Can I please speak to the phone owner?

Hub: I don’t have one. [Relenting] I only have a mobile. Where are you calling from?

Caller: Talk Talk.

Hub: I remember them! From the Eighties! [Sings] Talk talk! All youdotome is talk talk!

Caller: … …

Hub: [Still singing, and enjoying it]

Caller: Umm, are you a singer?

Hub: [Modestly] Not any more.

Caller: You’re very good. [The Hub chooses to hear this as the truth and not flattery]

Hub: Thank you. I used to be in a band called Hub & the Termites; have you heard of us?

Caller: [Embarrassed] No, I’m sorry.

Hub: I thought you would have; we had a little colony following us.

Caller: … …

Hub: Where are you calling from?

Caller: Talk Talk.

Hub: Not your company; what country?

Caller: South Africa.

Hub: [Delighted] No kidding! [Breaks into excited and extended Afrikaans chatter. Lots of sighing at the other end while she waits to start her spiel.] We’re in Alberton!

Caller: Alberton?

Hub: Yes, just south of Jo’burg.

Caller: [Is utterly confused because she’s in a call centre in South Africa, selling phones to Brits in the UK, and doesn’t understand how she got through to a local number] Umm. I’m sorry; I must have the wrong number. Thank you for your time. Goodbye.

Hub, Spud, Me: [Hysterical laughter and rolling around]

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The best thing is, she will never be quite sure if she was the victim of a prank, because what are the odds of calling England and getting a broad Mancunian who speaks fluent Afrikaans and knows Jo’burg so well?

A favourite one of mine was when someone called, trying to sell us new windows, and the Hub told them we didn’t need them because we live in a cave. A stunned silence is worth a thousand words.

Then there was the time the Hub called my Dad, used a fake accent and asked to speak to Miss Wall.

Dad: Sorry, there’s no-one of that name here.

Hub: Mrs Wall?

Dad: Nope, no Mrs Wall.

Hub: How about Mr Wall?

Dad: No [Patient but grinding his teeth], I’m sorry, there’s no Mr Wall.

Hub: Are there any walls there?

Dad: No.

Hub: Then how does your roof stay on?

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The Hub is a minx.

Joke 288

Thanks to Earlybird for this one.

A guy walks into the psychiatrist wearing only Clingfilm for shorts.

The shrink says, ‘Well, I can clearly see you’re nuts.’