An Open Letter to Prank Callers

When the store isn’t busy, I’ll usually humour you guys for a minute or two before asking you to call back when you’re 18. I don’t particularly mind prank calls. I was a teenager once too who, if I may say so myself, delivered some masterfully – well, decently – executed crank calls to businesses and homeowners alike. I remember when that “Butt Plugs” video came out, back when everything funny (I use the term loosely now) was on Ebaums World rather than YouTube. I watched Crank Yankers. I've been there. You probably think you’re the first to think of it: calling a sex shop of all places! As a joke! But here’s the thing:

We know. We always know.

It might take us a couple seconds – some customers really do ask what our biggest dildo is right off the bat – but you’re not fooling anyone for long. We can hear your friends snickering in the background. We know you’re not actually looking for a robotic gerbil to put in your butt. And that accent? It’s not so much convincing as it is racist. We’ve heard it all before and, believe me, we’ve got our responses memorized.

I’m not saying this to hurt your confused, hormonal, sexually repressed feelings. I say it to free you from the confines of unfunny crank calls! You want a reaction that won’t make you embarrassed by your lack of originality? Drop the accent and call someone who hasn’t heard it before. Ask your local occult book store if they have anything on resurrecting pets, then cry. Ask Home Depot if they know a way to get urine off the ceiling before your mom gets home. Your grating, prepubescent voice is a tool. Use it.

Just stop asking me about our butt plugs.