I was at a meeting in Oxford the other evening and found myself sitting next to a very interesting gentleman. A man of some distinction, he had been Knighted many years ago for his major contributions to the social well being of the citizens of Britain and although well into his eighties, he still continues to work, being in the middle of writing a book.
During the course of our conversation, I mentioned a telephone call I had had the previous evening with a colleague of mine. To my surprise he commiserated with me, and began to reflect on the "mis-use," as he put it, of the telephone. "When we first had a telephone in 1930, people would only telephone if they had something very important to say, and only for the direst emergencies would the telephone be used after six in the evening, otherwise," he went on to say, "it was considered to be the most appalling intrusion into one's privacy."
I have in mind a friend of mine, John, who as a manager in a multinational firm has chosen to take up his company's offer to work from home. Wired to head office, ideas and thoughts can be transmitted from his Managing Director from whatever country he is in at the speed of light. Messages cascade from the Fax machine and flit across the computer screen all day and night. The telephone no longer has to be left in the home office when John decides to make a coffee; it can be carried conveniently in his pocket so that no calls need go unanswered.
As I began to think about John's situation and of others like him, I realised that this Electronic Baby that has been brought home, and that enables him to work anywhere he wants to, has become a hard task-master. No one has said that John must reply to the Fax from America on Sunday evening, but he feels in some curious way that his performance, and therefore ultimately his job, depends on the speed at which he responds. Are we, I wonder, trying to be a machine ourselves? Are we serving the technology rather than the technology serving us?
It used to be that life had a natural rhythm and set itself natural boundaries. The old gentleman I was talking to didn't have to set his own boundaries. Protocol demanded that no one called on anyone unless they announced themselves first with a calling card. We now need a protocol. We have to find a new way of saying politely but firmly, "I'm not here at the moment," and that takes courage when it must seem at times that other people's capacity for work is inexhaustible. Someone needs to be able to say firmly, "I have better things to do on a Sunday evening than work." My hunch is that it is a sentiment that would be met with a sigh of relief.
© Pauline Hodson