The day Ozzie Osborne spoke to me

I thought Ozzie Osborne was a TV serial.

I have known for a while that Ozzie was a "hit" TV series from decades long gone by. I even own a DVD with some of the episodes. I bought that item even after the checkout clerk at Microcenter gave me this incredulous look while he broadcast to the rest of the queue: "Are you really buying an Ozzie and Harriet DVD?!!!" I remember nodding vigorously, mumbling some excuse with averted eyes, and running out of the store (with the DVD) thinking about what monstrosity I was going to find on that disc. In my defense, I (a) had no clue about Ozzie back then, (b) paid less than $2 for it, and (c) am yet to even break it out of its shrink-wrap.

This morning, Google politely informed me that Ozzie (or Ozzy) Osborne is some sort of rock musician who looks like (s)he belongs in a horror movie.

My first phone call on a peaceful Saturday (today) is from my credit card company. Well, I believe it was a call center in India. There was no mistaking the accent of the caller, and the background noise as though he was calling me from some car assembly floor.

Patience! This is not another rant against jobs leaving the pristine shores of the US. Frankly, I have no problem with outsourcing. It is a by-product of capitalism. If the US wants to stick by its economic model, then it has to accept the cost-cutting basis that leads to outsourcing. And well, I'm Indian, too. But I got irritated when this Indian sitting far away in India actually said:

"Hello Mr. So-and-So. I am calling from XYZ Bank. You have a credit card account with us. My name is Ozzie Osborne."

I was immediately thrown off guard. Instead of paying attention to the insane "offer" he was about to force on me against my will, my mind wandered back to that unseen DVD and the secrets it still held. I was soon jerked back to reality when Ozzie started trying to verify my address and other details as confirmation of my participation in his scheme.

All attempts at getting out of the trap proved futile, but I put up a brave fight. Mr. Osborne eventually gave up. Quoting some "internal system error", he transferred me to his floor supervisor. Blank silence on the phone, when I was tempted to hang up. But there is still some goodness left in me inspite of more than six years of harrassment by the Ozzie-types. I held on, and was soon greeted by another Indian voice. More background shop-floor sound effects.

"Hi, my name is Mr. Mascarenhas."

This is when I finally hung up. Hadn't this joke gone too far? This is not the first time I have been faced with Indian sales agents giving out fake Anglicised names. If they lie about their identities, why should I believe their statements?

Maybe Americans do not want to call Dell Customer Service and be greeted with:

"Hi, welcome to Dell customer service. My name is Panchapakesan Venkatasubramanian Balakrishna Pillai. How may I help you?"

But there are Indian ways to shorten names. Why resort to Westernization? Could it also be possible that the jobs (such as Mr. Ozzie's) being outsourced are ones that nobody in America actually wants to have?