![circus ponies notebook for iphone circus ponies notebook for iphone](https://imgc.appbank.net/c/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/CircusPoniesNoteBook-02.jpg)
Staffing this hellhole were three guys who channeled a cross between the Three Stooges and the Beverly Hillbillies, a Hindenburg-sized woman named Stephanie spilling from her skimpy clothes, a pair of toothy guys who might have been from the Osmond Family, and a caramel-skinned girl from Mexico or Honduras or wherever. Eight call stations filled the dimly lit room, bare bulbs swinging from the ceiling. The photo gallery also included a post office-style wanted poster of two grimacing blockheads, later identified as the Topholus twins.
CIRCUS PONIES NOTEBOOK FOR IPHONE FULL
I was escorted to the call center pit: a dingy set-up with plywood tables and plastic folding chairs, whitewashed walls, and a half-dozen framed pictures of circus performers going full throttle: a pudgy trapeze artist, roustabouts manhandling a big-top tent into position, and a man on stilts juggling balls. Rob had an extraordinarily low bar and I somehow met or exceeded it. We talked hours and pay, and I was ready to go. Nothing about sales experience or closing deals. Taking more questions about my work history, I mumbled through my youthfully thin resume recounting a paper route at the Beaverton Valley Times, a window washer job at the Beaverton Car Wash, and picking strawberries. "Alright, well, I guess you can handle our phone lists then. "Oh…yeah." He pushes a rotary dial across the plywood tabletop. "So I can tell you what the numbers are." "The M-I part…? I don't know, give me the phone?" "Yeah, the letters, what's the number for the letters?" "Northwest of North or South America?" Rob said. "So, what is MI4-7935?," said the guy with the bearded-lady lapel button named Rob. The job interviewer was a talking blowtorch. For one-dollar an hour, and discount circus tickets, I tortured people on the phone. My summer work home became a windowless call center next to the Beaver Brand horseradish factory, in Beaverton, in the Beaver State. But the evolving maturity of my voice, sounding like a cross between the teenager I was and a clarinet, reduced my broadcasting career to calling random strangers to sell them things they didn't need or want. Age and experience aside, my patter and diction showed promise. Instead, I accepted a telemarketing assignment peddling Topholus Brothers circus tickets. Walter Cronkite needed a summer vacation backup on the CBS Evening News.