Way back when I did telemarketing, I would always get put on a guilt trip when the person answering the phone would start crying, "My husband is dead! Why can't you leave us alone?"
ONe of my first jobs was selling the LA Times, first door to door and then by phone. Much easier by phone, on the emotions. And easier to turn over the numbers more quickly. If they said no and meant it I could move on. There was a guy named Omar, big black guy, great conga player who would share w me the good and bad voodoo of traditional beats. Anyways when he'd call prefix's in east county his name would become Ken and he'd have a white texas accent. Sold a lot of papers that way.
What goes around....Back in the '90s after Paul had moved south, I picked up the mail from Box 611. On more than one occasion, included in the pile would be mail addressed to Phil Dick from people like Benjamin Creme (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Creme), whose "second coming" stuff Phil followed for years. --Robert L.