EDITOR'S LETTER

The Phone Thing

Ten, even five years ago, I would have thought myself a complete ass for being proud of the fact that I actually place all of my own phone calls. Like I’m able to perform complex surgery or something. Children dial phone numbers; I’m sure there are dogs that do. Now I mention this only because in the hothouse professional world I drag myself through each day almost nobody places their own phone calls anymore. They have their assistant dial the number, get you on the phone, make you wait, then pick up the phone themselves. Here’s another way of looking at it: I’m coming over to your house. Unannounced. I have one of my people call you to say I’m just about there and could you be waiting for me at the door when I arrive.

There are people in Southern California—I won’t mention any names; oh hell, Jonathan Dolgen, the head of Paramount, for one— who “roll” calls. This is when a person in a position of high importance sets aside a parcel of time each day to phone business associates or return calls. While the executive is still on the phone with one person, the assistant, armed with a long list of numbers, gets the next call on the line and basically puts that person in a holding pattern until the executive is finished with the current party. The wait can sometimes last half a minute—an eon in telephone time.

I’m such a sucker that when I get a phone call during office hours I still think that the person will be on the line. I pick up the phone and overeagerly say the caller’s name, only to have the assistant say, “Hold on—I’ll put him on.” I always feel slightly deflated when this happens, like I’m one of those losers who always choose the magician’s hand that doesn’t contain the coin. During an average day, I get maybe two dozen calls, and except for ones from friends and family, almost all are now placed by an assistant. Aside from writing this stupid and rather pointless editor’s letter each month, it is one of the most annoying aspects of my job.

I get home. It’s a little after seven—dinnertime when I was growing up, coming onto cocktailtime in New York. I get a call. It’s from a long-distance phone carrier. On the other end of the line is some poor soul who needs the job, is paid almost nothing, and probably has kids at home in need of their parent. Equipped with written patter and a rudimentary pronunciation of my name, he or she asks if I would be interested in ... I begin to reel. I sometimes get three of these calls in a single night, from companies such as MCI and Sprint. This ever happen to you?

Here’s the plan. Every time you get one of these calls, don’t be angry with the person on the other end of the line. It’s not his or her fault. Pick up the phone and dial the person’s boss. To make it easier, here are the names of their bosses and their office phone numbers: Ronald T. LeMay, president and C.O.O. of Sprint, 913624-6000, and Bernard Ebbers, president and C.E.O. of MCI, 601460-8602. And if you have access to an assistant, get him to make the call for you.

GRAYDON CARTER