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"The
Solicitor"
by
Andrew Olson
When I call, it’s usually after
5:00 p.m.—but never later than 7:00. I always ask for the person I’m calling for
by the first name. Is Jill there? Is Mark there? And then, if they’re still on
the line, I talk to them about what I’m selling. Oh, don’t be mistaken—most
people hang up on me. Probably seventy-five percent. Another five percent listen
for 30 seconds, and then hang up. Another ten percent listen for a minute, and
nine percent for a minute and a half. A measly one percent make it to the end.
That’s when I lay it on them, when they find out this call isn’t like any
ordinary solicitor calling.
The reason most
people I hang up, I think, is they don’t believe me. If I was on the other end
of the line, I'd certainly question what I was saying.
The one person out
of a 100 who stays on the line usually thanks me from the bottom of his heart.
It’s not uncommon for their families to send me cards. This makes perfect sense,
because the families are the ones who benefit the most from my calls.
Then there’s the
occasional person who doesn’t believe me. Like the other day. The man I called
wanted to toy with me, like I was someone asking for money.
“Hello, is this
Steven?” I asked him.
“No, it’s Joe Bob.
Who the hell is calling?”
“My name is Stanley
Morgan, from Morgan Associates—”
“Oh shit, another
solicitor. Oh, Christ, you’re the fifth to call me tonight!”
“I want you to
listen very carefully to what I have to say, Steven. I’m only going to say this
once. Are you listening?”
“Oh, I’m listening
like you can’t believe, Stanley Morgan.” And he laughed.
“This isn’t a
joke.” I cleared my throat. This is always the hardest part. “Steven, you’re
going to die tomorrow. I know this is difficult, but this is your last chance to
help out your family. This is your last chance to buy life insurance, to take
care of your wife, Nancy, and daughter Eva.”
Silence on the line.
“Steven are you
there?”
“This is the
funniest thing I’ve heard all day—no, funniest thing all year. Do you wait till
the holidays to call people like me?”
“As I’ve already
told you, this isn’t a joke.”
“You keep telling
that, but what kind of credentials do you got? Are you God or something?”
“Hardly, Steven.
I’m just trying to help you out.”
“Well, even if I
did believe you, what the hell are you gonna do now? If I’m dying tomorrow, how
am I going to sign up for some friggin’ insurance policy?”
“Have you got
today’s mail, Steven?”
“The mail? Sure, I
got it. It came with a stack of bills as high as my knee. I don’t look through
that shit till the middle of the month.”
“I want you to go
to your stack of mail. You should see a letter from Morgan Associates.”
I heard Steven drop
the phone and go look for the letter. I could hear him grumbling as he looked
around. He managed to insult the cat, the dog, even his daughter—and finally
came back to the phone.
“Yeah, I got it.
What do you want me to do with this?”
“Open it up. You’ll
see two pieces of paper. In order to qualify for $300,000 of Life Insurance for
your family, just check the box on the first piece of paper.”
“What box?” Steven
asked.
I realized I was
dealing with someone who probably couldn’t read.
“There’s only one
box, Steven.”
“Hey, don’t get all
condescending with me!?”
“Just check the box
and sign it. Use the return envelop to send the first piece of paper back to me.
Have you checked the box and signed the piece of paper, Steven?”
“Look, I don’t know
what this is. I mean, you could be asking me to sign away my life.”
“Steven, it’s very
important you do this. It’s the difference between your family being comfortable
in the next few years—and having serious financial problems.”
“I don’t think I
want to sign it, Mr. Morgan. Something smells fishy here.”
“What do you have
to lose, Steven? And even if you like, go ahead and read through the document.
I’ll wait. It’s written in plain English. Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”
Steven read the
document. It was only 11 words long, and the box was very simple:
“Look, why don’t I
call you back, Mr. Morgan.”
“There’s no time
for that, Steven. You either sign and send off that document tonight, or your
family has a lot of problems.”
“You sound like
you’re threatening me now. Doesn’t make me really want to sign anything.”
“Look, Steven, it
goes like this: I could call 1000 people tonight, but I’ve only got time and
resources to call five people. You’re one of the lucky five.”
“Or unlucky,” he
said.
“The point is, you
have this tremendous opportunity to give your family the security they need. You
can give them the life they deserve. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Well, of course it
is.”
“Then please sign
the form and put it in the mail.”
“Is this some kind
of practical joke?”
“I wish it were,
Steven.”
“How do I know?”
“Well, if it is a
practical joke, everything will be OK tomorrow—and you’ll have life insurance
for $300,000, guaranteed.
Steven did put his
form in the mail—and he died the next day while crossing the street to the bus
stop. A pickup truck hit him.
People have often
asked me how I come across this information, about when people are going to die.
The truth is, I
don’t know.
The names, phone
numbers, causes, dates, and times all come to me. They just appear, like little
movies in my head. And I write them down.
Before I did this,
I really did sell insurance at a big company that will remain nameless.
I suppose it’s a
blessing and a curse. I make a good living, but for those who take advantage
of my services, they and their families will have piece of mind. And someday,
I’ll probably see my own death; it’ll come to me the same way. Of course, I'm
prepared for that and have life insurance. Until then, I’m just doing the job I
was sent here to do.
So, if you receive mail from Morgan Associates and then receive a phone call
from me, I'd advise you not to hang up.
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