The Face That The Voice Belongs To

I like working at a call center because no one can see how ugly I am. I've always been told I have a soothing voice and a face for radio and it turns out they were right on both counts. My mellifluous dulcet tones command the respect and authority that is so seldomly afforded to me as a civilian. In their minds eye I'm a nebulously defined generically appealing blur; an upstanding citizen with smooth diction and a barrelfull of crisp well articulated platitudes. I'm unassuming in person, gentle and meek and eager to please. On the phone I can materialize the desired results by the sheer force of my will and manipulative, coddling psychology. No one would take me seriously if they could see the slump shoulders and pock marked cheeks of an over grown teenager but they don't need to know. They don't -want- to know. They are willing participants in the Pied Piper song that leads them toward the end of the call. I ought to get into voice over work because I could sell salt to snails as long as they never see the teeth that make a crooked jail house around my silver tongue.