by Chris Morvan
Lack of professionalism is not something anyone likes to be accused of, but it confronts us in all walks of life, not just here but everywhere.
I’m talking about taxi drivers who can’t put your luggage in the back because they’ve got their lawn mower in there, and who don’t know their patch, so they ask you how to get where you want to go and end up asking a pedestrian for directions. Gardeners who turn up without the tools of the trade, in the belief that youthful energy and a machete can achieve anything. Companies whose automated telephone answering systems tell you to wait to be connected to an operator and then announce that ‘that mailbox is full’, before taking you back to ‘If you know the person’s extension…’
But there is a strange phenomenon whereby certain employees are happy to be considered inefficient if it masks their real intention: to screw you around.
My attention was drawn to the subject by a couple of run-ins with secretaries who seemed to think their job was to stop me doing mine.
I’m a journalist: not a dirt-digging scandal-monger, but a seeker of interesting subjects and people prepared to give the rest of us a glimpse of their world.
That involves my getting a meeting with them (in this case called an interview, but it’s the same thing), and it’s something that happens all the time. But sometimes you get blocked.
You bump into someone who sounds interesting, tell him you’d like an interview and he invites you to contact his secretary to set something up.
What follows is a game of cat and mouse in which the interviewee and his “people” never actually say no, but just throw spanners in the works. You go to the office and the secretary smiles and gives you the full-on Caribbean charm (for the purposes of this piece, let’s assume it is a woman).
And then she doesn’t do what she promised. She doesn’t get back to you. You don’t know if she’s inefficient, and she seemed friendly enough when you met her, so she can’t be deliberately being unhelpful, can she? Whatever, she puts the onus on you to phone and try to get past a switchboard operator.
You become a victim of what people in the admin world call “screening” and those on the receiving end call obstructiveness.
“Can I speak to Haydee please?”
“She’s not in today.”
“Well yesterday she told me to phone her today.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Why? Is she in?”
“Who’s calling?”
“You mean who’s calling please.”
“She’s not in today.”
“Okay, can I speak to Talia, then?”
“Talia works in HR. I thought you wanted the director’s office.”
“Yes, but Haydee’s not in today and I know Talia.”
“Talia’s at lunch.”
“Any chance of speaking to the director? It’ll only take a minute.”
“You’ll have to speak to Haydee.”
“But Haydee’s not in today.”
“Exactly.”
Note that the project has now been downgraded. You’re no longer trying to get a meeting with Haydee’s boss: it will be a minor triumph if you get to talk to her, the secretary .
You’ve spoken to both of them in person already, but they sidestepped you with, it has to be said, a deplorable degree of skill.
I imagine the instructions to Haydee went something like this.
“I don’t want to see this guy, but don’t refuse or he’ll think I’ve got something to hide. Just make sure it never happens. Make it look like a misunderstanding, more his fault than mine.”
And in this respect he, the telephonist and Haydee are world-class. Top exponents of the art of prevention.
These conversations are elaborate charades to avoid saying what we both mean and ending up in an unprofessional argument. What’s really being said is this:
“Can I speak to Haydee please?”
“Is that who I think it is? The guy she’s trying to avoid?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Who are you?”
“Does that make a difference to whether she’s in or not?”
“Ah, it is you. Look, you’re going nowhere, mister. I am the gatekeeper and you’re not coming in. Haydee doesn’t want to speak to you. And nor do I. And I’m in charge.”
“Just let me speak to the director. It’ll only take a minute.”
“You’re joking. You’ll have to speak to Haydee. And I’ve told you she’s not here today, although whether she actually is or isn’t is none of your business.”
“Okay, can I speak to Talia?”
“If I thought it would waste your time I would put you through. But Talia is likely to help you. So no. She’s at lunch.”
“Lunch? It’s three o’clock.”
“I know. Go away. We don’t want your sort around here.”
