ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, March 10, 1997 TAG: 9703110065
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-7 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: MONTY S. LEITCH
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
"MR. WATSON! Come here! I want you!"
Today's the anniversary, you know. A hundred and twenty-one years ago today, Alexander Graham Bell called out for his assistant in the other room, thereby transmitting the first complete sentence ever passed over telephone lines.
Folks have been demanding the immediate attention of listeners ever since.
The other day I heard a fellow describe it this way: "All these faxes and e-mails, I don't think they really make my life any easier. My lag time has disappeared. It used to be, you'd get a letter from someone asking for something, and you could lay it aside. You could say, `I'll get to that in a couple of days' because you knew they didn't really expect a reply for a week, or maybe longer. Now, you get a fax and they want it right now. In the next five minutes. Sooner if possible. Talk about pressure!"
Every time the phone rings, it's "Come here! I want you!"
Maybe it's ringing your fax machine or your e-mail. The petulant demand is the same: "Come here! Come here! Pay attention!"
Once in a while I've decided, firmly, that I won't be bothered today. That even if my phone rings off the wall, I'm not going to answer it, I have better things to do.
Have you ever tried this?
I usually hold to my resolve until the second ring. The insistence of that sound! What else could it signify but a dire emergency calling out for my instant resolution?
That, at least, is what your caller thinks it means.
And that's what you mean, too, when you're the caller.
Admit it. You phone someone, you want them to answer. You want them right now, this minute. You want to tick them off your "To Do" list, and you want to tick them off immediately.
Now that I can, I've been known to unplug my telephone from the wall. (Remember: There was a time, not so long ago, when the only way you could accomplish this was by cutting the cord. And then, you were stuck with having to find some way to explain the disaster to the telephone repair man - who, rest assured, would have taken his own sweet time in showing up at your door. "Why, I can't imagine what happened! I should have known better than to leave the cat alone in the room with scissors.") An unplugged phone rings on incessantly, but silently. You can't hear a thing about other folks' sudden urges to bend your ear.
Of course, now that I can, I also let "my machine" do the answering for me.
My Machine.
Sort of like "my valet" or "my chauffeur" or "my personal assistant," isn't it? The other day, someone's machine actually answered me, in a pleasant voice, "This is Mrs. Elliot's personal assistant."
My Machine speaks much more pedantically than does hers. But, it does the trick. It keeps me from being at your instant beck-and-call.
Or does it? Before, if you missed me when you called, what did I know about it? If a phone rings in an empty office, etc., etc. Now, with My Machine there in that empty office for me, I have all these calls to return.
A task I tick off my "To Do" list as soon as possible.
And thus, My Machine calls out to me as imperatively as does any ringing bell. Only what it says is this: "Come here, I want you! I wanted you even sooner, but you were not at home! Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why weren't you sitting there all along, waiting for my call?"
Talk about pressure.
Monty S. Leitchis a Roanoke Times columnist.
LENGTH: Medium: 70 linesby CNB