"Now, to make a sale, you need to engage the caller in conversation," he says. If you get to the bottom of the script and you do not know all about Bob or Sally, he adds, you have failed.
After two hours of training, Cohen, like a proud father, lets us take over the phones.
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"Remember," he says, as we situate ourselves in the cubicles, "these people want to talk to you."
This is not the feeling I get when I start making my phone calls. I am cursed at by a 60-something man who thought he was registering for a cruise. When I tell him, after he has already given his credit card number, that it is not a cruise he has won but a "wonderful trip to Orlando, Florida," he hangs up. My manager looks at me in disappointment. "I thought I taught you better than that," he says. "Didn't you tell him there was water in Florida? And he could have gone cruising down I-95?"
Several unemployed people are excited that they have won a trip. Then they are crestfallen when they learn that they've actually only won the chance to pay a reduced price for three vacations, transportation not included. "But isn't that great too?" I say half-heartedly.
On my third day, I reach Mike, a 32- year-old school teacher who is taking night classes to become licensed as a school administrator. I ask him what grade he teaches.
"High school," he says.
"Ouch," I say.
Mike laughs.
"So you're a math teacher," I say. "Logically, then, you should be able to recognize a good deal. And purely by numbers, you know that a free vacation is the best deal you can get. So what's the problem?"
"The problem," he says, "is that as a math teacher, I know logically this can't be real."
"Mike," I say, "do you have a girlfriend?"
Mike goes silent for a second. "Yes," he says. "She's in Iraq. She's been there for the past nine months."
"Well," I say, "don't you think when she gets home, she'd like to go on a nice, free vacation to Florida?"
"I don't know when she's getting home."
"Well, that's the great thing about this trip," I say. "It's good for a year and a half. And you always have the option of extending the vacation for another three months for an additional $35."
I call back, but he does not answer. I leave a message on his machine. "Mike," I say, "I hope your girlfriend gets home soon. I'll be praying for her."
From the beginning, I have questions about the ethics of the company's sales tactics, but the whisper of guilt is becoming a drumbeat in crescendo.
DMA, the national telemarketing association, claims that it provides an employment opportunity for millions who might otherwise be either unemployable or working at menial jobs. According to DMA, 26 percent of telemarketers are single mothers, 5 percent are physically handicapped, and 67 percent of female sellers come from a minority group.
"A lot of the people who work in this field are not qualified for other jobs," says Jordan Cohen, spokesperson for the DMA. "Telemarketing is one of the few jobs that does not require a high level of education, hard physical labor, or long hours... What this policy does is impact people who are the most vulnerable in society. It hurts those who have the least."
They may be vulnerable to changes in the marketplace, says Tim Costello, coordinator of the North American Alliance for Fair Employment, but telemarketing employees are also among the most exploitable. "They're being treated like slaves," he says. "No one should ever have to work for nothing." After working as a telemarketer for six days, I have made a grand total of $130. Of that money, I will not see $70 for another three months, due to a stringent company policy that places a hold on your first few sales. Fifty of those dollars were promised to me as an incentive to get me back in the store, and $10 I earned by working on a Saturday.
One thing you lose fast is self-respect. Arnaut Veldhoven, 22 , a graduate of Lynn University in Boca Raton, refuses to tell anyone what he does. "If they ask," he says, "I tell them I do something in sales."
Regardless of the title, "at the end of the day, I feel like my lips will fall off from kissing ass so much," says one caller with five years' on-and-off experience in the business. As if to emphasize his point, he shoots spit across the parking lot.
On a Wednesday night, I walk into the office for the last time.
"I can't do this anymore," I tell the manager. "I'm not making any money."
Stu nods. He's sympathetic. "I understand," he says. "You need to make a living.
"Just give me a minute," he adds. "Let me see what I can do."
Stu picks up the phone, makes some calls, nods his head, smiles, and laughs.
"Thanks so much," he says.
When Stu hangs up the phone, he wheels his chair over to me. I expect him to tell me that he's talked to the big bosses and that they're willing to pay me a base salary.
Instead, he hands me a looseleaf sheet of paper with the phone number of a local restaurant.
"Give these people a call," he says. "I think they're hiring."
