The Death of Phone Calls
Here’s a subject I’m hesitant to bring up because it will invariably lead to charges of “luddite” or “grandpa” or some other slam. But let me tighten up the chin strap on my helmet and dive in:
Why are so many people adamant about continuing a text or email conversation that could be settled in a fraction of the time with a simple phone call?
(I already hear the groans, but this must be addressed.)
One of our IT specialists with the radio station sent me an email, asking about something technical in the studio. I answered with as much information as I could, but also suggested a quick phone call.
Twenty minutes later, the IT specialist wrote back again with another question I couldn’t quite grasp. I responded, again to the best of my ability, but really suggested a phone call.
Nope. Another email, 35 minutes later. Still muddy as hell. I was perplexed, the IT specialist was vague, and nothing was solved.
As I write this, the entire back-and-forth has involved a total of nine messages over the course of three hours, 37 minutes.
A phone call would’ve lasted, at most, four minutes.
The superior communication
I’m not averse to text messages, and I write and respond to dozens of emails every day.
But sometimes a phone call is—GASP!—superior.
And yet, for many people, it just will never happen. I wanna know why. What is it about a quick phone call that fills so many people with dread?
Yes, often a text will suffice. Yes, sometimes just one email will settle everything.
But when it’s obvious no communication is happening through these digital messages, why not just, you know, TALK?
I can’t be the only person who longs for a good old-fashioned conversation when four or five or thirty-five emails aren’t getting it done.
Have we become such cyborgs with our devices that all we know is punching out messages with our thumbs? Are we rapidly evolving into a creature that’ll have four thumbs and no vocal cords?
We just don’t like people
Maybe it’s something else. Maybe the reliance on gadgets coupled with two years of pandemic-induced solitude has made us absolutely detest the sound of another human’s voice. Maybe we just don’t LIKE people anymore, and the best we can offer is a hastily typed message—sort of like a modern version of “Talk to the hand.”
As I finish this quick post, it has now been just over four hours, and the IT specialist has gone radio silent.
I’m sitting here, my lonely phone on the table, waiting for a ring that’ll never come.
If you feel Dom’s pain and you, too, don’t mind an occasional phone call, consider buying him a tea or a beer right here. The coffee shop will be silent, filled with people sending text messages.
