Call someone who cares They’re not phone solicitors — they’re good friends who just happen to have a great opportunity for me! BY STEVE ALMOND

The other day I received a rather interesting phone message from a young woman named Heather. Here’s what Heather said to my answering machine:

"Hey! How are you doing? I got the name of that product you were asking about, the all-natural appetite suppressant. I’ve been using it for the last three weeks and I’ve lost 17 pounds. Can you believe it? Anyway, here’s the number ... I’m so excited about this product. Okay. Talk to you soon! Bye!"

Heather sounded terribly excited, giggly even, as if she were discussing especially effective blowjob techniques with her sorority sisters.

In fact, her manner was so familiar that, for a moment, I assumed this was a wrong number. Clearly, Heather had intended to call a pal of hers (perhaps even a sorority sister) who had asked her about a weight-loss product. It was only a bit later — when she recited the 1-800 number — that I figured out the con.

I have to admit I’m still a little confused about the logic of this particular phone solicitation. The manufacturer of the weight-loss product in question must be banking on one of four possibilities:

1) That the recipient of Heather’s phone call does, indeed, have a friend named Heather who promised to retrieve information for him or her about an all-natural weight-loss product.

Frankly, this feels like a stretch.

2) That the recipient of Heather’s call might get confused and assume that she has a friend named Heather, whom she asked to retrieve the information in question.

This is a distinct possibility, particularly among the senile or drug-addled, who, of course, are ideal consumers.

3) That the recipient of Heather’s call will assume this is a wrong number, but feel lucky to have been given the inside skinny on such a remarkable product — a product so remarkable that a popular young girl like Heather would take time out of her busy schedule to help her friends score some.

Okay, it could happen.

4) That the recipient of Heather’s call is a lonely, pathetic writer who might call the 1-800 number simply to see if someone there has Heather’s phone number.

No comment.

I think we can all agree on one thing, which is that Heather marks a bold new low in phone solicitation.

I should add, however, that she is by no means without peer. Indeed, over the past few months I’ve gotten to know Todd, who works with a resort company, and who calls every few weeks to tell me that my name has been selected for a valuable prize, though I’ll need to call a 1-800 number to claim it.

Todd is an earnest young fellow. He tends to trip over his words, apparently because he’s so gosh-darn excited to be the one who gets to break the good news to me. He also adds informal little flourishes to his messages, exclamations such as "Hey!" and "If that’s cool" and "It’d sure be great to see you!"

Some of you might be familiar with Frank, as well. He’s the guy who keeps inviting us down to Orlando for that two-day, three-night, all-expenses-paid, no-obligation vacation. Frank sounds he might be Todd’s uncle.

Or perhaps Frank is Heather’s dad, and he’s just as thrilled as can be now that Todd and Heather have gotten engaged, because, well, heck, who wouldn’t want a son-in-law like Todd?

And I’ll admit that there are moments during my day — creative lulls, I guess you could call them — when I find myself wondering, if this is the case: will I get an invitation to the wedding?

In a previous era, of course, I didn’t worry about whether I was receiving invitations to the marriages of my phone solicitors, because back then they pretty much kept things professional. An actual person called up. You knew from the bored, exhausted tone of voice what they were up to, and simply hung up.

The legislature even came up with this fabulous law, which allows consumers to tell phone solicitors that they want to be removed from their call lists.

But in this brave new era of phone solicitation, computers make the calls. Rather than live voices that sound dead, we get recorded voices that sound frighteningly alive. So alive that we hesitate a few moments before pushing the erase button. And I trust that some market researcher in some well-furnished corner of hell has figured out just how profitable it is to keep the consumer on the phone for those few extra seconds.

Still, I have to wonder if maybe capitalism hasn’t gone a little too far this time. The great brains of Madison Avenue already spend their days devising ways to create false needs by exploiting the deep-seated insecurities of innocent Americans.

But I’m not sure if innocent Americans like me should be subjected to phone calls from people like Frank and Todd. After all, if you have to call people at home and attempt to trick them into trying your product by pretending to be their friends, I mean, doesn’t this say something sort of sad about the allure of your product?

I sometimes wonder what the folks who run these businesses say when someone at a cocktail party asks them what they do.

Do they say, I’m in sales, and just leave it at that?

Or do they say: I make dreams come true.

Or: I’m an opportunity provider.

And what would happen if Heather actually did have a friend, a real-life friend, who wanted to know about that amazing weight-loss product she’d mentioned. Wouldn’t this friend be a little offended to discover that her pal was calling thousands of people each hour, perfect strangers, to give them the number, as well?

And, perhaps most important, if I do get invited to Heather and Todd’s wedding, where am I supposed to sit, on the groom’s side? Or the bride’s?

Steve Almond can be reached at sbalmond@earthlink.net