A Short, to-the-Point Column on Voicemail
As a guy who would have done just fine living on the prairie in 1870 with only the hoot owls to talk to, I’ve had to adjust to voicemail. A bit of an intrusion, isn’t it? And presumptuous? Sheesh. Nowadays, no matter how isolated you want to be, they can get to you.
At home, I wouldn’t even have a standard message machine if it weren’t for my far-flung relatives. My closest friends know I don’t have time for their stupid little problems. If one of them calls and I’m not home, they can call back. Eventually, they’ll catch me. If not, they can write. I don’t know anyone so important or interesting that I must know they’ve called. Nor do I know anyone who considers a phone call from me as a cherished moment not to be missed.
However, with my family scattered, I had to get a machine. When your mother lives in constant fear that you’re going to die in your sleep and be found several days later with spiders crawling on you, you’ve got to be able to reassure her when she phones and says, “Give me a call and let me know you’re still alive.”
So, she gets this standard reply: “Hi. I’m still alive. [Pause] Uh, this is your son.”
At work, voicemail has proved indispensable. If not for readers leaving heartfelt messages reminding me that I am a man of rare insight as well as a cartoonish clod who doesn’t know which end is up, I might never have learned of that inherent conflict within. Voicemail allows callers to drill that dichotomy into me day after day after day after joyous day.
What I’m saying is, I’ve made my peace with progress. While voicemail never will attain the sacred status of cable TV, it’s here to stay.
The task now is to perfect its usage. Apparently, I’m not the only one occasionally put off by the invention.
Pacific Bell recently sponsored a national survey (by phone) to see what Americans like and don’t like about voicemail. To sober you up right quick, the company says that by 2001, 18 million Americans likely will have voicemail. That would be twice as many as today.
The survey of 1,000 people revealed that 76% had “at least one significant frustration” regarding voicemail messages left for them. Topping the list were messages that were too detailed. Next in line on the frustration scale were callers who left out vital information--such as their phone numbers--or who spoke too slowly and repeated things. The most important characteristic of a good message, the survey found, was to be “short and to the point.”
I wouldn’t put these findings in the “startling” category. It’s not as though the respondents revealed they prefer long, rambling messages that permit them to construct a good-sized club sandwich while waiting for the caller to wrap things up.
Wanting to probe into a couple particular pet peeves of mine, I got in touch with Pac Bell official Joan Korngut, who left me thinking I’m not so odd after all. It seems like lots of people share my annoyances.
It’s not only the callers who should leave concise messages, Korngut says, but also the person on the receiving end who isn’t there to take the call. “People like short and succinct messages” on the answering machine, Korngut says. “They’re not fans of having a long song being played or having kids leaving a cute but somewhat lengthy message.”
I score well on succinctness on my home and work machines. However, I admit to stumbling when leaving messages. I ramble, repeat myself and make otherwise inane remarks. Self-consciousness sets in almost immediately, so much so I often want to end my message by saying, “Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying, disregard everything I just said.”
That’s not unusual, Korngut suggests. A caller like me should organize thoughts in advance.
The survey also found, she says, that people receiving messages prefer that callers not wait until the end of a message to leave the return phone number. The best method, she suggests, is to leave your number at both beginning and end.
I’ll second that.
Too often at work, I wish I were the Amazing Kreskin. A caller will go to great lengths to describe an issue of importance and then garble the return phone number. Folks, I cannot call you back without your phone number. And I really must insist on all seven digits.
I’m sorry. I know I sound cranky.
At the risk of further alienating you, let’s just say I hope you get the message.
Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com
