For the first few months I lived in New York, my evenings at home were remarkably quiet. I didn’t realize why until mid October, when the telemarketers first wised to my new East Coast location. Suddenly, all evening long, I was besieged by unbeatable opportunities; the litany of deals, for credit cards, newspaper subscriptions, time-shares and vacation packages, all simply too good to miss, rolled in. At first, I was nice about it. After all, I reasoned, these people were just doing their job. Hoping to build good karma, I’d wait until the caller’s need to breathe put a gap in the constant outpouring of sales-speak, then interject a polite ‘thanks, but I don’t think I’m interested.’ Over time, however, the constancy of the calls began to grate at me, until I could fully understand my fathers motivation when he once told a telemarketer, ‘perhaps you’d like to speak with my dog.’

In the last couple of months, however, I’ve discovered an exceedingly therapeutic and highly productive way to deal with unwanted calls. As soon as I realize it’s a telemarketer, I say ‘please hold’ and put down the handset. I don’t mean I hang up; I mean I just put the handset on the counter, then go back to doing whatever I had been doing before. Usually it takes the caller several minutes to realize I’m not coming back. And during that time, I figure I’m saving at least five or six other citizens from telephonic harassment.