I think I spent about 4 hours of my life “on hold” this weekend. I don’t know how you feel about being put on hold, but I feel a little left out when I’m put on hold. Are they talking about me behind my back? Are they treating me like a telemarketer hoping I’ll hang up? There are also the physical issues; cramps in the neck, curled fingers and mind-numbing hold music. I find that being put on hold is an all-around miserable affair.
My first experience on hold was when I was trying to buy some fruit trays for a party. I called the store and they asked how they should direct my call. I told the operator I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to order some fruit trays. She told me, very helpfully, “Oh, you need to talk to Produce. I’ll transfer your call. Please hold!” She clicked me on hold and my ears were assaulted with a rock version of Jingle Bells I’d never heard before.
I was on hold for a good 5 minutes when the phone was answered by a man in a hurry: “This-is-produce-how-can-I-help-you?”; “I’d like to order 2 fruit trays, please.”; “You-need-to-talk-to-the-deli-please-hold.” CLICK! Back to the rocking Christmas music... *sigh*
Another mind-numbing 5 minutes floated away and the phone was answered with a single, tentative word: “Hello… ?” I said, “Yes, I’d like to order some fruit trays.”; “Oh, this is receiving, you must be holding for deli?”; “Yes, yes I am!”; “OK, hold on.” CLICK! Music… ARGH!
After 10 minutes a woman answered, “Deli, may I help you?”; “Yes, I’d like to order two fruit trays, please?”; “When would you like those?”; “Thursday morning.”; “Oh, umm… could you hold?” CLICK! I hate that; I didn’t even have the chance to say, “No, I don’t want to hold anymore!”
Five more minutes passed and a different woman answered, “Deli, may I help you?”; “I would like to order some fruit trays for pick-up on Thursday, please.”; “Certainly, I can help you with that.” FINALLY! It only took 25 minutes to do what should have taken 5.
The worst experience, however, was Comcast. I went to pay my bill online like I do every month. I logged in and it told me the software had been updated and I needed to set-up my security questions. After I set-up the security questions, the software took me back to the login screen. I logged in again and it told me the software had been updated and I needed to set-up my security questions. See the trend?
I tried this a few more times just to be sure, but it was true – I was stuck in a software loop. I clicked on the link for on-line help and I was promptly redirected to a chat window that had the following message: “Welcome to Comcast. Your question is important to us; please wait for the next available customer service representative. You are number 47 in the queue.” I waited for about 15 minutes, watching the numbers click down to 35. I figured that at that rate, I had at least another half-hour on cyber-hold.
I clicked out of the window and decided to try the direct approach: I would just call. I dialed the number and followed the prompts:
“Press 1 if you are experiencing a service outage; press 2 for questions about your bill …” I pressed 2.
“Press 1 for cable television, Press 2 for cable internet, Press 3 for Digital Phone service, press 4 to repeat this menu.” I paused; I have all three services combined on one bill and I wanted to pay my bill. What should I press? I paused too long…
“Press 1 for cable television, Press 2 for cable internet, Press 3 for Digital Phone service, press 4 to repeat this menu.” I went for it and pressed 3, since I was using my phone.
“We are currently experiencing system outages in the following zip codes: BLAH BLAH BLAH” What the …? I knew I had pressed the number for billing questions, not system outages! Then the music started. It was interrupted once a minute by the standard “Your call is important to us” message, followed immediately by the long list of zip codes. I played that game for another 15 minutes and then I decided to try a different tact.
I hung up and called in again.
“Press 1 if you are experiencing a service outage; press 2 for questions about your bill …” I pressed 2.
“Press 1 for cable television, Press 2 for cable internet, Press 3 for Digital Phone service, press 4 to repeat this menu.” I knew the phone link didn’t work, so I pressed 2. It was their internet site I was having trouble with.
Back to being on hold… at least this time I wasn’t getting the message about the zip codes experiencing outages. I did get the “Your call is important to us; please continue to hold and a customer service representative will be with you shortly” message every minute, though. I was on hold for 20 minutes this time and then the representative answered the phone.
I explained that I was calling because their new website login had me in a do-loop, and I wanted to pay my bill. The woman said, and I quote, “Oh, then you need to talk to our billing department. A lot of people are having trouble with that today.” Um, yeah. That’s why I told the phone prompt computer I wanted to talk to billing in the first place. Why do they even have that prompt? Then she said, “I’ll transfer you; please hold.” CLICK!
I was on hold for 25 minutes this time. During that time, My husband came home with my lunch and asked what I was doing. I told him and he laughed. He has his own Comcast “on-hold” story that he should put it up on his blog…
Finally a gentleman answered and asked how he could help. I explained the loop his software had me in and he asked me to run through it again. *Sigh* Sure. I can do that. I talked him through what I was doing and he confirmed that, yes, I was stuck in a loop. Then he said, “Could you hold on?” I said, “You know, I have been on hold already for more than 45 minutes waiting to talk to you. I really don’t want to be on hold any more. My patience has worn extremely thin.” He paused, “Well, I promise I’ll be quick.” CLICK. To quote my teenaged daughter: “WHATEVER!”
On his behalf, I will say that he was quick that time. He was back to me in less than a minute. He said, “Are you logged in on a wireless network?” “Yes, I am.” “Well, could you try from a wired network connection?” That was about the dumbest suggestion I’d ever heard. I’m on my home network, like always, in the middle of nowhere. What difference does it make whether there is a wire or air? I said, “No, I can’t. I don’t know where I can find a network cable in my house because I’ve been paying my bill over this wireless network with this laptop and that router for 2 years. Try something else.”
“Um. OK. Could you please hold again?”; “Tom, we’ve been through this already and I’ve told you how I feel about being on hold.”; “Oh, yeah. I was quick last time, remember? I’ll be quick this time, too.”; “OK, we’ll see.” He was gone for about 5 minutes and I was definitely straining to be nice when he came back on the line.
“Tom, I can’t take much more of this.”; “I know, I’m sorry. Could you please give me the password you are using to login?”; “Excuse me?”; “I need to see if the problem is being caused by your network connection so I need to try and login as you from my connection.”; “How about this, Tom: why don’t you give me YOUR login information and I will see if I can login as you from my connection?”
He gave me an answer that I know was BS: “I don’t have Comcast so I don’t have a login.” ARGH! “Fine Tom, I’ll give you my password.” So I gave Tom all of my information and you won’t believe what he discovered when he tried to login… the problem wasn’t my network! “Ma’am, I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to ask you to hold again.”; “Tom, why don’t you conference me in with the person who is helping you work this situation? I mean, maybe I can answer the questions personally and this can go a little faster.”; “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t have conferencing capabilities on my phone.”; “Tom, give me the number – I will conference us all in together.”; “I really can’t give that number out. I promise I’ll be quick.” CLICK *sigh*
This time was 10 minutes. “Ma’am, I’m really sorry. I’ve requested that they send you a PIN number. Would you please check your e-mail and see if it has arrived yet?” I checked. No new e-mail. I told Tom. “Well, the message says they will either e-mail it to you or mail it through the US Postal Service. Since you haven’t gotten it, they must have mailed it to you through the USPS.”; “How about this, Tom; how about I put you on hold until the e-mail comes through?”; “Um; it should have come through already so it must not be coming through e-mail.”; “How about while I have you on hold, you call them back and tell them to e-mail it because you are on hold and need it to go through to get off hold.”; “I can’t do that, ma’am. I don’t have a contact number for them, it’s an automated service. You’ll have to call back when you get the message in the mail.”
“Fine, Tom. Please make a note that I can’t pay my bill until you send me the PIN number.”; “Well, I can transfer you to the automated billing office and they would be happy to take your payment over the phone.”; “Tom, I am done being on hold and listening to computer voices, and quite honestly paying my bill is not that important to me today.”; “Uh… OK. Have a nice - ” And I beat him to the CLICK!
Tuesday
Friday
Crazy Dog
My Greyhound Lizzie is a little fruity. I think neurotic is the best word to describe her, really. She drives me absolutely batty with her ever changing phobias, but my husband adores her (as do most men; go figure) so we keep her around. As a coping technique, I’ve found that laughing at her neuroses makes them more palatable, and she doesn’t seem to mind so it works for us. We’ll have had her for 2 years this Christmas and she does something new every week that I find “entertaining.”
Usually when I come home from work, she follows me around wagging her tail like a helicopter rotor – around in circles smacking everything in its way. While she’s doing that, she bounces on her front toes and wriggles her nose and whines. She knows I hate whiners, but she whines at me anyway. Crazy dog.
So yesterday I came home from work and she was not intertwined in the sea of fur that met me at the door. I called her name and she peered at me from the living room with a wild look in her eyes. I waded in her direction through the high water of happy hounds that were clinging to my legs, but she turned with her tail tucked and scooted into the dining room. I shrugged and led the rest of the herd to the back door so they could go outside and do their business.
Lizzie followed at a distance and hovered in the doorway to the kitchen watching the open door as I encouraged her to go outside. She was having no part of me so I walked away from the door. She ran through the kitchen and out the door like she was being chased by an angry mob. I just shook my head.
While the gang was outside, I went upstairs to do my own business and I saw the cause of Lizzie’s angst – the door to the master bedroom was closed! To Lizzie this would have been equivalent to being kicked out of your favorite social club. The poor dog already has extremely low self-esteem and then someone screwed up the morning routine and told her she was no longer worthy of the large, master bed. She could no longer snuggle the memory foam pillow, or nest the down comforter. She had been emotionally battered and had all day alone to fret about it!
Armed with the knowledge of what was causing the issue, I went downstairs and let all of the dogs in. It took some doing to coax Lizzie through the door (it actually took an extra milk bone; go figure), but I did it. The bigger step was getting her to go upstairs… She already hates staircases, but couple that with the fear that I was going to taunt her with the closed master bedroom door and you have one devastated dog.
I ended up playing a game; I chased her around downstairs until she had no choice but to climb the stairs to get away from me. I ran up behind her and watch her fly into the master bedroom. She heard my footsteps behind her and fell to the floor in her trademark submissive crouch: “The S-Dog.”
Picture this: a 75-lb dog lying on the floor with its tail tucked so far under it you don’t know it has a tail. Back legs are hunched under the tummy, left hip plastered to the floor, and as your eyes follow the spine, you see it curved in a graceful s-curve up to the shoulders, first to the left and then a gentle sweep to the right where you see the right shoulder of the dog plastered to the floor. The neck has the same, sweeping arc back to the left where you see the dog’s nose tucked under the left shoulder, with the front legs askew at awkward angles keeping the whole sculpture from tumbling over.
Now I knew we had a grave situation. Lizzie doesn’t contort herself into an S-Dog unless she’s seriously upset. I backed off immediately and sat down quietly about 5 feet away from her. I turned my head away so I wasn’t looking at her and I softly sang her name. “Lizzieeeeeeee, crazy Lizzieeeeeeeeeee. Why do you curve yourself so?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her soften the harsh curves of her S as her hip and shoulder slowly raised from the floor. I kept singing, “Don’t you know, its just so, your back shouldn’t bo…”
She moved her front paws until they were aimed toward me, and then she started to slowly crawl in my direction. Her nose pointed straight to the floor, she opened her eyes and looked up with the hint of a mischievous twinkle. I was getting to her! I slowly turned my body toward hers, still singing, “It’s a silly thing, this chicken wing, and you should just let it go.” She crawled close enough to reach out and smack me with her paw. I smacked her paw back and she smiled at me; she had forgiven me.
We smacked each other some more and I gave her some tummy rubs; she in return gave me some happy air-snaps. Suddenly, she jumped upright and ran to the master bed where she threw herself prostrate across the pillows with a dramatic flair and let out a huge sigh of contentment. Crazy Dog. Think she knows that she had me at hello?
Usually when I come home from work, she follows me around wagging her tail like a helicopter rotor – around in circles smacking everything in its way. While she’s doing that, she bounces on her front toes and wriggles her nose and whines. She knows I hate whiners, but she whines at me anyway. Crazy dog.
So yesterday I came home from work and she was not intertwined in the sea of fur that met me at the door. I called her name and she peered at me from the living room with a wild look in her eyes. I waded in her direction through the high water of happy hounds that were clinging to my legs, but she turned with her tail tucked and scooted into the dining room. I shrugged and led the rest of the herd to the back door so they could go outside and do their business.
Lizzie followed at a distance and hovered in the doorway to the kitchen watching the open door as I encouraged her to go outside. She was having no part of me so I walked away from the door. She ran through the kitchen and out the door like she was being chased by an angry mob. I just shook my head.
While the gang was outside, I went upstairs to do my own business and I saw the cause of Lizzie’s angst – the door to the master bedroom was closed! To Lizzie this would have been equivalent to being kicked out of your favorite social club. The poor dog already has extremely low self-esteem and then someone screwed up the morning routine and told her she was no longer worthy of the large, master bed. She could no longer snuggle the memory foam pillow, or nest the down comforter. She had been emotionally battered and had all day alone to fret about it!
Armed with the knowledge of what was causing the issue, I went downstairs and let all of the dogs in. It took some doing to coax Lizzie through the door (it actually took an extra milk bone; go figure), but I did it. The bigger step was getting her to go upstairs… She already hates staircases, but couple that with the fear that I was going to taunt her with the closed master bedroom door and you have one devastated dog.
I ended up playing a game; I chased her around downstairs until she had no choice but to climb the stairs to get away from me. I ran up behind her and watch her fly into the master bedroom. She heard my footsteps behind her and fell to the floor in her trademark submissive crouch: “The S-Dog.”
Picture this: a 75-lb dog lying on the floor with its tail tucked so far under it you don’t know it has a tail. Back legs are hunched under the tummy, left hip plastered to the floor, and as your eyes follow the spine, you see it curved in a graceful s-curve up to the shoulders, first to the left and then a gentle sweep to the right where you see the right shoulder of the dog plastered to the floor. The neck has the same, sweeping arc back to the left where you see the dog’s nose tucked under the left shoulder, with the front legs askew at awkward angles keeping the whole sculpture from tumbling over.
Now I knew we had a grave situation. Lizzie doesn’t contort herself into an S-Dog unless she’s seriously upset. I backed off immediately and sat down quietly about 5 feet away from her. I turned my head away so I wasn’t looking at her and I softly sang her name. “Lizzieeeeeeee, crazy Lizzieeeeeeeeeee. Why do you curve yourself so?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her soften the harsh curves of her S as her hip and shoulder slowly raised from the floor. I kept singing, “Don’t you know, its just so, your back shouldn’t bo…”
She moved her front paws until they were aimed toward me, and then she started to slowly crawl in my direction. Her nose pointed straight to the floor, she opened her eyes and looked up with the hint of a mischievous twinkle. I was getting to her! I slowly turned my body toward hers, still singing, “It’s a silly thing, this chicken wing, and you should just let it go.” She crawled close enough to reach out and smack me with her paw. I smacked her paw back and she smiled at me; she had forgiven me.
We smacked each other some more and I gave her some tummy rubs; she in return gave me some happy air-snaps. Suddenly, she jumped upright and ran to the master bed where she threw herself prostrate across the pillows with a dramatic flair and let out a huge sigh of contentment. Crazy Dog. Think she knows that she had me at hello?
Wednesday
Greyhound Scream of Death
There are many tools that coddled, spoiled Greyhounds use to ensure their ongoing success: sad eyes, whining, whimpering, and yowling, just to name a few. But the most lethal tool by far is the Greyhound Scream of Death (GSOD). Contrary to the visions of heinous, life-threatening injuries this may conjure in your mind, a Greyhound unleashing the GSOD is likely not hurt, but may have actually stepped on a blade of wet grass and wants you to fix it immediately. Let me outline an example; picture this…
You and your Greyhound are sitting on your deck outside enjoying a beautiful spring afternoon. Your Greyhound is snuggled on a nice, soft blanket you brought out, snoozing and dreaming of happy things, while you are stretched out on your chaise lounge relaxing with a good book. The birds are chirping happily, playing in your new bird bath, not a cloud in the sky. It is an afternoon that defines serenity.
Unbeknownst to you, a fly has decided to check out your Greyhound. It buzzes around cautiously, quickly realizing that the beast is not disturbed by its presence. It hovers briefly above your Greyhound’s nose, lining its feet up for maximum traction and then lands abruptly. Out of nowhere, your Greyhound goes from sweet serenity to a swirling mass of uncoordinated legs and tail, spiraling around in confusion, while letting out the most ear piercing, heart stopping scream of agony you have ever heard.
It is a sound heard by the neighbors over their home theater system as they contemplate dialing 9-1-1. Chipmunks and squirrels you didn’t even notice are chattering the alarm and seeking higher ground taking the other woodland creatures with them. It is full of such portents of danger the birds leave and fly to trees miles away for safety. You, meanwhile, reflexively throw your book 20 feet in the air and rush to save your dog from the evil that has cursed it before you even realize you are standing up.
Your dog, seeing that you are on your way, stands still with one front paw gingerly lifted off the ground, quivering with soft, sad eyes staring at you, wrenching sobs from your throat and welling your eyes with tears as you envision that some failing on your part has caused harm to come to your favored friend. As soon as your Greyhound sees that you are affected, he hobbles towards you so you can caress him and check him over to fix the horrendous injury that has caused his anguish.
You take the seemingly injured paw gently in your hands, expecting spurts of blood or missing fur and scraped skin… but there is nothing. You spread his toes to check the webbing, expecting to see it split wide open and oozing blood… but there is nothing. You check pads for splinters, the wrist for gashes; you work your way up to the ankle, gently manipulating the whole way with your heart pounding so loudly you are afraid it will burst. You are expecting to find a twist or sprain with your ever-so-gentle massage that will elicit the GSOD again… but there is nothing.
And then you see it… the fly laying on your dog’s bed, its heart stopped from fear, dead where it was tossed when your Greyhound jumped for the sky. You gently flick it off the bed to the grass below, and your Greyhound trots right on over (using all four feet) where he nests the blanket and settles right back to his snooze, oblivious to your gaping jaw.
You and your Greyhound are sitting on your deck outside enjoying a beautiful spring afternoon. Your Greyhound is snuggled on a nice, soft blanket you brought out, snoozing and dreaming of happy things, while you are stretched out on your chaise lounge relaxing with a good book. The birds are chirping happily, playing in your new bird bath, not a cloud in the sky. It is an afternoon that defines serenity.
Unbeknownst to you, a fly has decided to check out your Greyhound. It buzzes around cautiously, quickly realizing that the beast is not disturbed by its presence. It hovers briefly above your Greyhound’s nose, lining its feet up for maximum traction and then lands abruptly. Out of nowhere, your Greyhound goes from sweet serenity to a swirling mass of uncoordinated legs and tail, spiraling around in confusion, while letting out the most ear piercing, heart stopping scream of agony you have ever heard.
It is a sound heard by the neighbors over their home theater system as they contemplate dialing 9-1-1. Chipmunks and squirrels you didn’t even notice are chattering the alarm and seeking higher ground taking the other woodland creatures with them. It is full of such portents of danger the birds leave and fly to trees miles away for safety. You, meanwhile, reflexively throw your book 20 feet in the air and rush to save your dog from the evil that has cursed it before you even realize you are standing up.
Your dog, seeing that you are on your way, stands still with one front paw gingerly lifted off the ground, quivering with soft, sad eyes staring at you, wrenching sobs from your throat and welling your eyes with tears as you envision that some failing on your part has caused harm to come to your favored friend. As soon as your Greyhound sees that you are affected, he hobbles towards you so you can caress him and check him over to fix the horrendous injury that has caused his anguish.
You take the seemingly injured paw gently in your hands, expecting spurts of blood or missing fur and scraped skin… but there is nothing. You spread his toes to check the webbing, expecting to see it split wide open and oozing blood… but there is nothing. You check pads for splinters, the wrist for gashes; you work your way up to the ankle, gently manipulating the whole way with your heart pounding so loudly you are afraid it will burst. You are expecting to find a twist or sprain with your ever-so-gentle massage that will elicit the GSOD again… but there is nothing.
And then you see it… the fly laying on your dog’s bed, its heart stopped from fear, dead where it was tossed when your Greyhound jumped for the sky. You gently flick it off the bed to the grass below, and your Greyhound trots right on over (using all four feet) where he nests the blanket and settles right back to his snooze, oblivious to your gaping jaw.
Tuesday
Meetings. A Must Read...
I work at a job that requires at least 10 years of experience. Phone conferences and web conferences are the norm in the type of work that I do; I must participate in 10 of them a month at the least. So, doing the math, in my 10+ years of experience I’ve participated in at least 1200 of these things.
There is etiquette involved:
1. Make sure you need to be there and that you understand the meeting objective
2. Make sure you have the proper software for the web meeting before the meeting begins. Ask to do a trial run the day before if necessary
3. Print out all materials ahead of time in case of a hardware failure
4. Make sure the meeting starts on time (or that you aren’t the cause of a delay)
5. Put your phone on mute if you are not actively speaking
6. Do not interrupt the person speaking
7. Follow the agenda
8. If you have a comment about something that is not on the agenda, DON’T BRING IT UP. Make a note to yourself to follow-up after the conference.
9. If you have a question about something that is not on the agenda, see above.
10. If you are having a discussion about something on the agenda and the natural course of the conversation takes you off the agenda topic, be polite and say “Let’s discuss this further after the meeting” Then make a note and follow-up after the conference
11. Keep it short and to the point if you have something to contribute; this is not your opportunity to prove you know it all or to impress the other participants
12. Make sure the meeting ends on time
Today I had to participate in a conference with about 50 other people that are in similar jobs to mine that require the same amount of experience. We were there to get trained on how to enter data into a new system. This is pretty normal stuff so I was absolutely speechless at the number of rules broken.
I logged in 10 minutes prior to the meeting. I had all of my equipment set-up, my print-outs arranged, and I went and got myself a soda and some chips to keep me occupied for the duration. I was set, settled and ready promptly at the meeting start time. At that point, I got to listen to 15+ minutes of people trying to download the meeting software and asking for passwords. It was incredibly painful.
Finally, the meeting organizer noted the time and started the meeting. He apologized to those folks that couldn’t login and suggested that they have their printed papers in front of them. That was followed by at least 5 minutes of people asking what papers they should have (if they didn’t know, why were they at the meeting in the first place?), still asking login questions, and just generally not focusing on the task at hand.
Then the meeting began. It started out wonderfully: I was getting what I needed to know, I was taking notes, and I was finally feeling like I wasn’t wasting my time. That lasted for all of 5 minutes and then the questions began… “Well, when we did this with the old system, we used file XXX. Why do we have to use file YYY now?”
And the meeting maker made a fatal mistake… he not only answered the question: “Because file XXX doesn’t have the required information,” he felt the need to explain the entire history of the generation of the new system and the requirements for new files. I flipped back to my meeting materials and went through them again. The history of the world was definitely NOT on the agenda!
These types of left-field questions came in for about 1 hour and 10 minutes. The meeting maker fielded them all with long-winded discussion. My eyes glazed over. The caffeine in my can of Mountain Dew was not cutting it so I ducked out for a candy bar and another can. I played solitaire on my iPod. I doodled. I used the phone in the next cube to call my mother. And right before I keeled over with my forehead hitting the keyboard, the mother of all meeting etiquette breaches happened…
We were suddenly assaulted by a barrage of light rock: Bruce Springsteen, the Eagles, Madonna, and some artists I didn’t recognize. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I know it put me over the edge. I breached etiquette: I took the phone off mute, interrupted the speaker and burst forth with an item NOT on the agenda: “Turn the bloody radio off!!!”
There was silence from the participants as Bruce continued to reminisce about his Glory Days. Then someone else joined in with, “Please, whoever is listening to the radio, put your microphone on mute.” It didn’t stop. Then I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and I realized what was going on: someone had put us on hold and we were listening to hold music! They couldn’t hear us to know what they had done.
Please, explain to me how you work somewhere for 10 years and not remember that your phone system plays music when you put someone on hold??
The meeting organizer came to the same conclusion and noted it to the rest of the participants. Determined to get through the agenda, he decided to continue on and try to talk over the music. For the remaining 20 minutes of our meeting we had loud background music. It was painful, it was difficult, but I held on through. I made about 5 minutes more worth of useful notes and then I made sure that the one etiquette item within my control was followed: I hung up on the meeting promptly at the meeting end time.
I was frazzled, I was angry, and I was powerless to right the long list of wrongs that had been perpetrated in that meeting; those wrongs that had wasted almost 2 hours of my life - 2 hours I will never get back. So in the hopes that hours of someone else’s life aren’t wasted, I post this story here and I ask you to go through the meeting rules of etiquette anytime you have a phone or web conference. Pretty please??
There is etiquette involved:
1. Make sure you need to be there and that you understand the meeting objective
2. Make sure you have the proper software for the web meeting before the meeting begins. Ask to do a trial run the day before if necessary
3. Print out all materials ahead of time in case of a hardware failure
4. Make sure the meeting starts on time (or that you aren’t the cause of a delay)
5. Put your phone on mute if you are not actively speaking
6. Do not interrupt the person speaking
7. Follow the agenda
8. If you have a comment about something that is not on the agenda, DON’T BRING IT UP. Make a note to yourself to follow-up after the conference.
9. If you have a question about something that is not on the agenda, see above.
10. If you are having a discussion about something on the agenda and the natural course of the conversation takes you off the agenda topic, be polite and say “Let’s discuss this further after the meeting” Then make a note and follow-up after the conference
11. Keep it short and to the point if you have something to contribute; this is not your opportunity to prove you know it all or to impress the other participants
12. Make sure the meeting ends on time
Today I had to participate in a conference with about 50 other people that are in similar jobs to mine that require the same amount of experience. We were there to get trained on how to enter data into a new system. This is pretty normal stuff so I was absolutely speechless at the number of rules broken.
I logged in 10 minutes prior to the meeting. I had all of my equipment set-up, my print-outs arranged, and I went and got myself a soda and some chips to keep me occupied for the duration. I was set, settled and ready promptly at the meeting start time. At that point, I got to listen to 15+ minutes of people trying to download the meeting software and asking for passwords. It was incredibly painful.
Finally, the meeting organizer noted the time and started the meeting. He apologized to those folks that couldn’t login and suggested that they have their printed papers in front of them. That was followed by at least 5 minutes of people asking what papers they should have (if they didn’t know, why were they at the meeting in the first place?), still asking login questions, and just generally not focusing on the task at hand.
Then the meeting began. It started out wonderfully: I was getting what I needed to know, I was taking notes, and I was finally feeling like I wasn’t wasting my time. That lasted for all of 5 minutes and then the questions began… “Well, when we did this with the old system, we used file XXX. Why do we have to use file YYY now?”
And the meeting maker made a fatal mistake… he not only answered the question: “Because file XXX doesn’t have the required information,” he felt the need to explain the entire history of the generation of the new system and the requirements for new files. I flipped back to my meeting materials and went through them again. The history of the world was definitely NOT on the agenda!
These types of left-field questions came in for about 1 hour and 10 minutes. The meeting maker fielded them all with long-winded discussion. My eyes glazed over. The caffeine in my can of Mountain Dew was not cutting it so I ducked out for a candy bar and another can. I played solitaire on my iPod. I doodled. I used the phone in the next cube to call my mother. And right before I keeled over with my forehead hitting the keyboard, the mother of all meeting etiquette breaches happened…
We were suddenly assaulted by a barrage of light rock: Bruce Springsteen, the Eagles, Madonna, and some artists I didn’t recognize. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I know it put me over the edge. I breached etiquette: I took the phone off mute, interrupted the speaker and burst forth with an item NOT on the agenda: “Turn the bloody radio off!!!”
There was silence from the participants as Bruce continued to reminisce about his Glory Days. Then someone else joined in with, “Please, whoever is listening to the radio, put your microphone on mute.” It didn’t stop. Then I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and I realized what was going on: someone had put us on hold and we were listening to hold music! They couldn’t hear us to know what they had done.
Please, explain to me how you work somewhere for 10 years and not remember that your phone system plays music when you put someone on hold??
The meeting organizer came to the same conclusion and noted it to the rest of the participants. Determined to get through the agenda, he decided to continue on and try to talk over the music. For the remaining 20 minutes of our meeting we had loud background music. It was painful, it was difficult, but I held on through. I made about 5 minutes more worth of useful notes and then I made sure that the one etiquette item within my control was followed: I hung up on the meeting promptly at the meeting end time.
I was frazzled, I was angry, and I was powerless to right the long list of wrongs that had been perpetrated in that meeting; those wrongs that had wasted almost 2 hours of my life - 2 hours I will never get back. So in the hopes that hours of someone else’s life aren’t wasted, I post this story here and I ask you to go through the meeting rules of etiquette anytime you have a phone or web conference. Pretty please??
Monday
The Ship... er, The Boat
I saw the funniest thing on my way home yesterday. A group of men driving an F-3050 (you know, the largest Ford Pick-up truck you can buy without a commercial company account) were pulling a boat. This was a BIG BOAT – bordering on ship-sized; it was 32’ long if it was an inch. They had stopped at a red traffic light, and when the light turned green they hit the gas.
I drove by the scene going to opposite direction right after that. First I see this insanely large pick-up truck, stopped with all four doors of the cab open, attached to an empty, big-ass boat trailer, parked in front of the big-ass ship. It seems that while the boat trailer decided to follow the truck it was attached to, the ship had other ideas.
The ship was sitting hard on the asphalt, listing to the opposite side of the roadway with a set of cars completely blocked on the side street. Standing around the back of the boat, hands pressed to hips, were the truck crew and the police officers obviously contemplating a way out of the situation.
As I turned my head to gawk, I saw the punch line written on the stern of the boat… the name of the ship was The Senseless.
I drove by the scene going to opposite direction right after that. First I see this insanely large pick-up truck, stopped with all four doors of the cab open, attached to an empty, big-ass boat trailer, parked in front of the big-ass ship. It seems that while the boat trailer decided to follow the truck it was attached to, the ship had other ideas.
The ship was sitting hard on the asphalt, listing to the opposite side of the roadway with a set of cars completely blocked on the side street. Standing around the back of the boat, hands pressed to hips, were the truck crew and the police officers obviously contemplating a way out of the situation.
As I turned my head to gawk, I saw the punch line written on the stern of the boat… the name of the ship was The Senseless.
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