COMMUNICATION FATIGUE
I have no idea how to get in touch with anyone
anymore. Everyone, it seems, has a home phone,
a cell phone, a regular e-mail account, a Facebook
account, a Twitter account, and a Web site. Some of
them also have a Google Voice number. There are
the sentimental few who still have fax machines.
If you want to be completely quaint, there are also
physical mailing addresses. With this multiplicity of contact points, it seems
like it should be easier than ever to get in touch, but communication has now
become a snarled mess of options. Every effort to interact involves a strategic
analysis of the person’s habits. I want to let my friend Buster know that I would
like to have dinner with him tonight. Does Buster work at home? Then how likely
is he to have his cell phone on? Is he one of those people who only turns on his
cell when he’s in his car? I hate that. If he doesn’t have his cell on all the time,
does he at least check the voicemail? Or—like me—does he just scan the list
of incoming calls to see who called, but never actually listen to the messages?
If I call his home phone, will he answer it? Recently, I have come to assume that
any call to my landline is from a telemarketer or an automated call from Terminex,
letting me know that our regularly scheduled pest-extermination service will occur
on its regular schedule. So I usually ignore my home phone. Before e-mail, before
Twitter, before texting, I used to watch my answering machine like a hawk; now
I often forget I even have an answering machine, so any message that lands there
will languish for days.
anymore. Everyone, it seems, has a home phone,
a cell phone, a regular e-mail account, a Facebook
account, a Twitter account, and a Web site. Some of
them also have a Google Voice number. There are
the sentimental few who still have fax machines.
If you want to be completely quaint, there are also
physical mailing addresses. With this multiplicity of contact points, it seems
like it should be easier than ever to get in touch, but communication has now
become a snarled mess of options. Every effort to interact involves a strategic
analysis of the person’s habits. I want to let my friend Buster know that I would
like to have dinner with him tonight. Does Buster work at home? Then how likely
is he to have his cell phone on? Is he one of those people who only turns on his
cell when he’s in his car? I hate that. If he doesn’t have his cell on all the time,
does he at least check the voicemail? Or—like me—does he just scan the list
of incoming calls to see who called, but never actually listen to the messages?
If I call his home phone, will he answer it? Recently, I have come to assume that
any call to my landline is from a telemarketer or an automated call from Terminex,
letting me know that our regularly scheduled pest-extermination service will occur
on its regular schedule. So I usually ignore my home phone. Before e-mail, before
Twitter, before texting, I used to watch my answering machine like a hawk; now
I often forget I even have an answering machine, so any message that lands there
will languish for days.
Is Buster young? If so, he has a cell phone and it will always be on, but he will never
answer it. The only way to raise him is by text, although a MMS is always
appreciated. I could e-mail him—but wait, no; e-mail is so business-y and boring,
with those insistent, demanding Subject Lines, so Buster, if he is still dewy with
youth, will probably eschew e-mail. I will have to send him a message on Facebook.
But does he check Facebook? If he’s under thirty, yes, he checks it every two
minutes. If he’s over thirty, he looks at it now and again. What to do if he’s, say,
twenty-nine? I could tweet him—if he’s following me, I can send him a private
direct message. But what if he isn’t? Then I have to tweet him as a public message,
which means everyone else sees the machinations of our dinner plans.
answer it. The only way to raise him is by text, although a MMS is always
appreciated. I could e-mail him—but wait, no; e-mail is so business-y and boring,
with those insistent, demanding Subject Lines, so Buster, if he is still dewy with
youth, will probably eschew e-mail. I will have to send him a message on Facebook.
But does he check Facebook? If he’s under thirty, yes, he checks it every two
minutes. If he’s over thirty, he looks at it now and again. What to do if he’s, say,
twenty-nine? I could tweet him—if he’s following me, I can send him a private
direct message. But what if he isn’t? Then I have to tweet him as a public message,
which means everyone else sees the machinations of our dinner plans.
I am now getting tired of Buster; tired of trying to assess Buster’s social patterns;
tired of the fact that instead of making one phone call and having a short, efficient
conversation, I have to blast him via home phone, cell phone, text, Facebook, and
Twitter to make sure to catch him somewhere. Since when was communication
so exhausting?
tired of the fact that instead of making one phone call and having a short, efficient
conversation, I have to blast him via home phone, cell phone, text, Facebook, and
Twitter to make sure to catch him somewhere. Since when was communication
so exhausting?
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