I started to wonder if I was getting paranoid. Every time I picked up the phone someone wanted to sell me a stair lift, walk in bath or and end of life care plan. Yesterday, a woman, who was trying to discuss whether my pension was going to last as long as I dared to keep living suddenly heard my voice and said, "I don't think this information is right. Are you retired? No? Oh, are you about to retire? Nineteen years, you say, oh dear. I'm really sorry."
Today, I feel I need to apologise to the young man from The Will Centre. I know that cold calling isn't an easy job and hysterically laughing people don't make it any easier. I wouldn't have been eligible for the product because I am not having problems paying for my care but I promise you don't need to send someone to have me sectioned. My hysteria was caused, in part, because cold callers have been so disappointed about my age and health lately that I was already on the defensive.
"Hello Madam. How are you feeling today?"
"Err.....I'm fine,"
Actually, I wasn't. I had a bit of a headache and my second toe on my left foot was numb but I didn't think he wanted to know that.
He sighed, "Oh, I'm Will from the Will Centre."
A sigh? Really? How dreadful. You feel fine. You might not need a will if you are not going to die soon.
I could feel it. I was going to laugh. You can't laugh when someone is calling you about your imminent death can you?
Will continued to talk.
Surely, you'd change your name if you were called Will and working at the Will Centre call centre? Poor Will, unable to sell wills to people who are feeling fine. No wonder he sighed.
I put my hand over my mouth and tried to listen.
"Do you know that there are people who can't continue to pay for their care and end up leaving nothing to their children?"
Tears were rolling down my cheeks and my shoulders were shaking but I managed a squeaky, "yes," I was imagining how sinister it was to ring people up try and sell them a will if they were feeling really ill.
"You do? What do you know?"
I was being interrogated by a young lad who was pissed off that I wasn't about to die, who thought I was spending my children's inheritance on a home help.
Too late. I laughed. I couldn't stop laughing.
He bravely continued with his script for a while. Each time he asked me a question I managed through the laughter to say I was really sorry. There was no getting away from it I was properly hysterical. It was beginning to hurt.
I could tell that Will was confused. "
"What's so funny?" he asked, "this is no laughing matter."
Words weren't easy for me by this stage. I could chuckle, chortle, roar, cackle and guffaw but actual words had left me.
"Please tell me what I've said, that's so funny," he pleaded. Poor Will, was getting paranoid now.
I managed, "How are you?.....Wills..." between the heaving gasps, as I tried to catch my breath and calm down.
"I'm not trying to sell you a will," he protested.
Oh dear, that was it. I was off again.
Laughter is contagious and Will had been infected. He didn't know why and it wasn't helping him do his job. He felt as though he was the butt of the joke but still couldn't help himself.
"Well, ha ha, I'll leave you to get on with the rest...he he he.... of your.....ho ho ......day." Then he snorted. Properly snorted like a pig and nearly choked as he gasped air in to regain some control.
I can just imagine him trying to explain himself to the rest of the office. "What was that about?" they will ask and all he will be able to do is wipe the tears from his eyes and shrug his shoulders.
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