I don’t know why my phone number seems to be such an attractive target lately for robo-scammers—but in the last month, it’s been the focus of seemingly frantic attempts to get me to answer the phone, to “press three for more information” after being told by a flat, lady-machine voice, that “my account” may have been compromised. By now, I’ve almost memorized these messages word for word, since I have to keep clearing my voicemail throughout the day of the same old drone, a different number associated each time with this unwavering memo. The only thing I’m amazed by is the sheer tenacity of the whole endeavor. Admittedly, no human’s having to sit on the other end of the line, facing one more hang-up or connection to voicemail—but isn’t some sort of record being kept of all this digital mania? Isn’t there some point at which the brains behind this operation realize they’re wasting their time and resources, and just chalk this particular number up as a lost cause?
I’m one of those fanciful doofs who tends to see living sentiment behind pretty much everything—squirrels telling you off from the top of a tree, the sad droop of a door that’s escaped its hinges, the stern face of a plain old concrete block. So it should be no surprise I’ve engaged in extensive speculation about the actual humans, if any, behind the hustle of this untiring automaton. What are they really trying to achieve, with this blatant sham? Is this simply an enterprise run by poor obsessives unable to shake the compulsion to keep calling, calling, calling? And why aren’t they trying harder to be believable?
Gerrit Benneker, Telephone Operator (A Weaver of Public Thought). Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons.
There may be some hint about what’s going on, even in that seeming lack of effort: the sole reason for just calling people—or rather, having a computer do your calling for you—and trying to get a few bucks out of them might in the end be sheer laziness. There’s some extreme form of lethargy about these ceaseless appeals that might be a part of the will to scam in general: a recognition that you need to have an income to live, combined with no will at all to earn that income. (I mean, you can’t even get a human-sounding voice to make your recording!) I picture the originators of this particular scheme, and others like it, sitting in their parents’ basements all day, staring dully at their phones or TV screens. Every now and then these pale subterranean creatures will look up to see a weak sunbeam coming through a ground-level window above them, before checking to see whether the contents of anyone’s bank account is now theirs.
Then, too, I sometimes wonder if this is merely the stuff of teenage pranksters, hellbent simply on annoying people, practicing the high-tech version of Bart Simpson calling Moe’s Tavern and asking to speak with I. P. Freely. The aim here wouldn’t be to defraud anyone—just to call and call and call so often that the person on the other end of the line finally loses her sanity, picks up, and demands for the love of God to be left in peace. Some adolescent snickering, maybe even human, might then ensue before the line goes dead, a couple of bros high-fiving each other over one more successful attempt to irritate the old people. But again, this seems like an awful lot of work, an awfully committed dedication to pestering one’s fellows, when there exists such a thing as an easily activated call blocker.
There’s also a sadder situation to ponder, some reflection of our gradual disconnection from each other in an age where our mutual attachments were only supposed to have been made stronger thanks to all our pervasive technology. I think back to Julia Has Two Lovers, the 1990 film starring David Duchovny as some dude who just looks up women in the phone book and calls them, an effort that results in at least two relationships, one with the heroine of the film. Is this guy a sicko, as a jilted ex who met him via one of these calls asserts? Or was this film saying something, even in the landline-limited ‘90s, about a deep need to connect with another person, even just to have a real conversation with a stranger?
Of course, I can’t believe that’s what’s going on with these robocalls; after all, warning the recipient without preliminaries that their account (Which one? Where, with whom?) has been compromised isn’t really a great opening for a heart-to-heart. Unless you think initially scaring someone, and then sticking around to soothe their nerves, is a good way to lead into soul-bearing conversation. But part of me wants to believe somewhere in there is an ineffectual plan based on the knowledge that once telemarketers get you on the line, they’re often not allowed to hang up—and is aware, as I’ve been, thanks to mischievous friends, of people who’ve either refused to stop having an irrelevant conversation with the caller, or who’ve gotten as far as agreeing to buy something, saying they just need to go get their credit cards, and then simply walking away without hanging up, leaving the call center employee to figure out what to do once they’ve realized their target isn’t coming back. Risk getting fired, or not making more sales pitches? Maybe my own robocallers are just hoping to get one of these people bent on undermining telemarketers on the line—and that finally, they can have some sort of meaningful discussion, talk to a live person instead of scrolling through texted abbreviations and emojis that act as poor substitutes for words.
Just as I tend to anthropomorphize the reactions of animals and, as we saw, plain old building materials, I suppose I also try in my own desperate fashion to see behind malicious actions or assumptions: to see some sort of veiled hurt that needs healing, or a yearning for mere acknowledgment. That sort of credulous investigation doesn’t mean I want criminals or just plain irritating idiots to get off the hook for what they do—and the attempt to see a frail, affection-hungry human behind a mask of evil often fails, as it does in the case of, for example, Donald Trump or Ted Cruz. Even so, my own weird need to uncover a grain of friendly feeling in my fellow creatures just keeps trying to find a point of connection, realizing at the same time that won’t be achieved via far-fetched explanations for simply hateful behavior.
There’s no telling what additional sorts of scenarios I’ll create for future telemarketers and robocallers. But I’ll admit: I may finally run out of fairy tales to deal with a constantly ringing phone. One day, I’m sure, I’ll just put it permanently on silent, and hope the real humans manage to get through the protective wall of peace.