Dear Vanessa,

Thank you for calling me with one final reminder to purchase an extended vehicle warranty. The first time was annoying, but the last fifty times makes you sound desperate and needy.

The problem is, your reminder is never final. You don’t know when to give up. You don’t know what kind of vehicle I have, or if I even own a vehicle. My primary mode of transportation could be a horse and buggy, or a unicycle. Perhaps I take the bus. Are you going to extend a blanket warranty on public transportation?

If I had a superfluous amount of time to waste, I’d go ahead and press Option 1. I’d tell your representative that I’ve been waiting breathlessly for their call, and I will speak very, very slowly. I’ll tell them that I have a 1930 Packard Convertible Coupe, an amphibious car, a 1906 Stanley Motor Carriage steam-powered automobile, and an M4 Sherman Tank. Let’s see how long it takes Vehicle Services to give me a quote, you slimy snakehole.

In an attempt to make me believe you’re just a hometown gal, your unscrupulous employer has managed to poach or spoof every available phone number in our state. No matter how often I opt out or block your number, you slither back into my life with another courtesy call. And when I least expect, there you are again with a new number and same tired sales pitch.

No means no. When I tell you to cease calling, do not undermine my decision by asking to speak to Alexa or Siri. They don’t make decisions. I do.

Your sister, Vageena, is even more annoying. She works for OnStar, aggressively marketing their services. I’ve been blindsided by her nasally robocalls, infiltrating the privacy of my vehicle while I’m driving. Startled by her blaring rhetoric coming through the speakers, I’ve almost driven off the road on several occasions.

“I see that OnStar isn’t connected. I also see that you almost drove off the road,” says Vageena in her most cynical tone. “Obviously, you need OnStar…”

Just when I thought I had you and Vageena figured out, Rachel is added to the mix. I remember Rachel well. She used to work for Card Member Services, operating with impunity as the voice of another unprincipled telemarketing ring. I may not remember a name or face, but a voice I never forget.

Why can’t you, Vageena, and Rachel be more like Rebecca? She’s confident, eloquent, and polite. When I start my vehicle and the dash cam powers up, Rebecca’s soothing voice comes to life informing me that recording has started. She also adds a gentle reminder to drive safely, proof that she truly cares about me. And if I turn her off, she tells me that she’s powering down. And she stays off.

Similar to 2001 A Space Odyssey, you’ve hijacked my life in order to fulfill your sick programmed directives. Your great-grandfather, HAL, would be very disappointed in your career choice: prostituting your voice as a cheap marketing tool.

I typically don’t resort to violence, but you and your artificial intelligence buddies call at all hours. You interrupt work, sleep, meals, and drive time with your annoying voice fray and repetitive propositions. Never have I wanted so desperately to throat punch someone that doesn’t exist.

Vanessa, we need to end this unhealthy relationship. Since you can’t manage your impulsive behavior, I’m staging an intervention. The first step is admitting that you have a problem. Sure, it will be hard at first, not being able to call millions of people on a whim. But it’s for the best. As well, I’m implementing a series of sophisticated algorithms that will force you to stop calling, bringing closure and healing to all involved.

Going forward, I hope that you learn to control your obsessive tendencies and choose a profession less skanky than telemarketing.

Sincerely,

(555) 555-5555