As we enter a new era of US imperialism, it’s to be expected that we’ll have to embrace some of the more irksome aspects of American life. Among them are the increasingly popular trends that have found their way across the Atlantic, each more perplexing than the last. Some are already here, such as the curious phenomenon of aggressive tipping, which for reasons unknown, has led to establishments like the Chiltern Fire House asking you to tip your waitress twice. Then, there’s the hospitality industry’s inversion of service—where the staff cheerfully proclaim, “I can do that for you,” as though they are performing a monumental favour. However, none is as grating as the hellish, seemingly innocuous, scheduled phone call.
I would like to propose that this frustrating ritual is the most heinous remnant of Covid, a practice that was born out of necessity during lockdowns but has now firmly embedded itself into the fabric of modern working life. Before the pandemic, the notion of having a phone call “scheduled” seemed a bit odd, even laughable. But now, it’s as integral to our daily existence as any email or social media notification.
I thought I had effectively rid myself of these annoying calls until a rather telling experience with Victoria’s Secret many years ago. I was editing a men’s magazine at the time and had been excited to discover that the American lingerie brand was opening a new store in London—just a stone’s throw away from our office. Naturally, I saw this as a prime opportunity for a grand marketing collaboration. After some back-and-forth, I arranged a conference call with their marketing team, which kept getting postponed. Each time, I received an unrelenting barrage of overly eager emails with the same sentiment—”SO SO EXCITED for our call!” It was as if the phone call itself had become the main event.
Two weeks later, the call finally took place, and what transpired was nothing short of maddening. The person at the other end, after some lengthy discussion about logistical concerns, told me that collaboration on the project simply wasn’t possible. All of this could have been conveyed in a simple email, but instead, the phone call had become an ordeal—an event in itself. The sheer obsession with the process, rather than the project, was glaringly apparent.
Fast forward to the pandemic, and my life was inundated with Zoom calls—many of them involving the very same American idiocy I had hoped to avoid. I vividly recall one project that seemed so important it required no fewer than eighteen people on the call. Eighteen! While waiting for the host to join, I noticed one participant’s background, which appeared to be some makeshift garage office filled with old batteries and odd electronic devices. With some dry humour, I jokingly asked if he was building a bomb. My remark was met with a chorus of uncomfortable silence from the Americans on the call. Only the Brits seemed to appreciate the joke.
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Predictably, the project involving eighteen people and six Zoom calls never materialised. But it wasn’t just a one-off. I found myself bombarded daily by emails proposing that we “schedule a call to discuss further.” What ever happened to concise, to-the-point emails? What happened to short paragraphs that got straight to the heart of the matter?
I, for one, still hold the belief that the best discussions can be had over an email, not an hour-long phone call. Unfortunately, it appears that the scheduled phone call is here to stay. In the modern business landscape, it’s become the default method of interaction, often driven by the fear that an impromptu phone call might interrupt someone’s dog walk, laundry session, or morning TV binge.
In my current dealings, I find myself in the midst of a negotiation where the other party continuously arranges calls and Zoom meetings that they inevitably miss. As irritating as it is, I’ve grown weary of chasing them down. I can’t help but wonder if they too are a victim of this American-inspired madness.
To you, Ortense (no, that’s not her real name), if you want to speak with me, just pick up the phone and call. No need to email, no need to schedule. If I’m free, I’ll answer. If I don’t, well, you’ll know it’s because I’ve simply had enough of playing this game. The next time you feel the urge to schedule another call, just remember—sometimes, less truly is more. And that, dear American idiocy, is a truth that can’t be scheduled.
