Switchboard as Microcosm.
One of the most irritating phone calls to take during my 9 hour day is the call that begins like this:
"Is Jack in?"
Imagine, if you will, a male salesman's voice - cocky, energetic, demanding, no-nonsense, all-American. It's the kind of voice that is smoothed over fratboy with the wisdom of three dotbombs under its belt. It's the kind of voice that is 20% entitlement, 30% condescension, and 50% bluffing. Allow 5% margin of error for elements of coy faux politeness, blunt efficiency, or assholery.
I work the switchboard for an office of over 400 people. I also happen to know who the caller means when he so blithely and confidently asks for "Jack." He wants to speak to our CEO. He is trying to tell me without telling me that he is on the inside, that he's on a first-name basis with the guy that runs the place. He wants a direct line to our corporate God, and by golly, he's not gonna let some phone girl stop him. He's wheelin' and dealin', folks, and that's all there is to it. He's very V.I.
"Jack," as it happens, is often not even in the office. When he is, he's not sitting at his desk, sipping slowly at awful coffee from the kitchen down the hall, shuffling through invoices piled high in his In tray. He's out and about, he's in meetings. He has an admin. Any calls that come in to the main number get routed through to this admin. No exceptions. Without fail.
These guys often push the issue, never really giving a reason why they need to speak to Jack. They act almost offended at my gentle screening of the call.
Namedroppers waste a good deal of my time every single day. They are not going to get through me, and I don't know why they should expect they ever should, from the first moment they hit my Wall of Bullshit Detectors. I can hear the keggers in their recent past, how can they not hear the bricked-up door in my present moment?
As is often the case on the switchboard and in real life, people use names as a way to create or maintain their own relevance. It's Who You Know, after all, and the more casually you can toss off someone's name, the more points you score in this game. "Oh, him? He's great." It always used to crack me up when I'd get calls for our former CFO, Edward: "Is Eddie around?"
Around my desk? Around this quadrant of this floor? "Eddie"? Who are you trying to fool? Cos it ain't me.
When you really know someone, and you've got the security of that connection, their name ceases to have power over you. No longer enslaved by the urge to blurt it out in close proximity with your own, the freedom of actually relying on connections that are already there is palpable, sane.
If you're calling for "Jack," and you feel familiar enough with him not to use his surname, why is it that you're not calling him directly? Why is it that you don't have his direct line? Why is it that you're trying to impress little old me, who tends to forget you 2 seconds after I've terminated your call?
Oh, that's right.
You must be selling something.
"Is Jack in?"
Imagine, if you will, a male salesman's voice - cocky, energetic, demanding, no-nonsense, all-American. It's the kind of voice that is smoothed over fratboy with the wisdom of three dotbombs under its belt. It's the kind of voice that is 20% entitlement, 30% condescension, and 50% bluffing. Allow 5% margin of error for elements of coy faux politeness, blunt efficiency, or assholery.
I work the switchboard for an office of over 400 people. I also happen to know who the caller means when he so blithely and confidently asks for "Jack." He wants to speak to our CEO. He is trying to tell me without telling me that he is on the inside, that he's on a first-name basis with the guy that runs the place. He wants a direct line to our corporate God, and by golly, he's not gonna let some phone girl stop him. He's wheelin' and dealin', folks, and that's all there is to it. He's very V.I.
"Jack," as it happens, is often not even in the office. When he is, he's not sitting at his desk, sipping slowly at awful coffee from the kitchen down the hall, shuffling through invoices piled high in his In tray. He's out and about, he's in meetings. He has an admin. Any calls that come in to the main number get routed through to this admin. No exceptions. Without fail.
These guys often push the issue, never really giving a reason why they need to speak to Jack. They act almost offended at my gentle screening of the call.
Namedroppers waste a good deal of my time every single day. They are not going to get through me, and I don't know why they should expect they ever should, from the first moment they hit my Wall of Bullshit Detectors. I can hear the keggers in their recent past, how can they not hear the bricked-up door in my present moment?
As is often the case on the switchboard and in real life, people use names as a way to create or maintain their own relevance. It's Who You Know, after all, and the more casually you can toss off someone's name, the more points you score in this game. "Oh, him? He's great." It always used to crack me up when I'd get calls for our former CFO, Edward: "Is Eddie around?"
Around my desk? Around this quadrant of this floor? "Eddie"? Who are you trying to fool? Cos it ain't me.
When you really know someone, and you've got the security of that connection, their name ceases to have power over you. No longer enslaved by the urge to blurt it out in close proximity with your own, the freedom of actually relying on connections that are already there is palpable, sane.
If you're calling for "Jack," and you feel familiar enough with him not to use his surname, why is it that you're not calling him directly? Why is it that you don't have his direct line? Why is it that you're trying to impress little old me, who tends to forget you 2 seconds after I've terminated your call?
Oh, that's right.
You must be selling something.