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Wednesday, August 17, 2005
The strange caller
[You are in a bedroom where a lady reclines languorously on the bed, dressed in a fetching silk negligee. Suddenly the phone rings. The lady picks it up.]I'm not kidding. You can outsource anything now. Read this.
Lady: Hello.
Disembodied Voice with Indian Accent (DiVIA): Hello, am I speaking to Mrs So-and-So?
Lady: Yes, I'm Mrs So-and-So.
DiVIA: Hello Mrs So-and-So. I can't take your nagging anymore. I am sick of your whiny screeching voice. I'm the provider, and don't you forget it!
Lady: Wha... what the hell is this?
DiVIA: Yes, and I'm also sick of your self-pity and your obsession with cosmetics. Damn, a Madame Tussauds waxwork has more life than you. You're a superficial bxtch!
Lady: Hello? What's going on, who the hell are you?
DiVIA: Yeah, with me you act all frigid and "I've got a headache tonight" and "oh, I've got work to finish" and at parties you're all "dahlinks, I must tell you all about the, wink wink, toe massage I got last week. Zimply deevine!"
Lady: [Pinches herself] Am I dreaming? What's happening?
DiVIA: Yeah, and also, I never get my dinner on time. Lay the table right away, and nothing else, ok?
Lady: [Loses it and shouts] What is this rubbish? I don't even know you! Who the hell is this?
DiVIA: [Clears throat] Um, sorry. I'm calling from a call centre in Bangalore. Your husband outsourced his marital squabbles to us. In future, when he's angry with you, we'll call you. Have a good evening. [Hangs up.]
Lady: [Shrieks] Honeeeeeeeey!
(Link via reader Sivanath.)
