Other Side of the mirror
When I was asked by the editor to offer a lighthearted column I was flattered but worried. Worried that he would plaster the word HUMOR on the page so that folks would know it is funny. Like a signpost saying, turn right here. That is the scary part of being funny. People may not notice it. They might think your call for a laugh is a serious one and not laugh at all. That is why all humorists go through life mortally afraid of being found out. But we are gluttons for punishment because we take our humor very seriously and are petrified someone may not laugh. So here goes.
The trouble with telespeak
They came from London to this terrific job in Saudi Arabia and the first day he went to work and his wife called his office and was told by the operator that he wasn’t in his cabin.
“Not in his cabin,” she said, “Not in his cabin, but that’s terrible.”
Anguished by the response she called a friend and said, “Bob has been given a Portocabin, can you believe it, they said to him in the interview he would have a proper office, now they have put him in a makeshift.”
The friend laughed and explained that ‘cabin’ often meant office in local telespeak.
Actually, expat telespeak can be quite confusing for those who are not initiated in it because English is filtered through so many nationalities and words take on different meanings.
Like a friend of ours who also called her husband and was told he could not be disturbed.
“Whyever not,” she said, “Is he taking a nap?”
“He is in a meeting.”
“Then why would he be disturbed, is there a problem, besides which, I am his wife, I do not disturb him.Quite the contrary, I would imagine he would be disturbed if you didn’t put it through.”
In telespeak, ‘disturb’ and ‘interrupt’ mean the same thing.
Another favorite is, “He has left.”
I am so sorry to hear that, I talked to him only a week ago,what happened, a run in with the boss, perhaps.
“Left,” can mean left for lunch, left for the day, left the company, left the country, take your pick.
About nine of every ten operators and secretaries will respond,”Sorry, he is not in his seat?”
Well, where is he then, under the table, hiding in the water closet, behind the couch?
An option on this one is a more dramatic, “He’s gone.”
You almost feel like sending a condolence message and as you begin to commiserate you realise he has only gone out of the office.
A very common telespeak torture is from the office operator who moves you directly from the ringing to music.
Now, you wait while listening to the plink plink plunk.
Finally, you get this hello and you have to ask if this is The Tip Top Trading Company.
Yes.
Well, can I speak to The MD.
Hold.
(Hold what, lady.)
Back comes the music, followed by a second voice saying, Hello?
Is that the MD’s office?
Yes.
Can I speak to him?
He’s out.
Out of what...sorts, money, patience or just the office!!!!!
Okay, I’ll call later, thanks.
You are welcome.
The last sentiment beats everything, seeing the runaround you got.
I had this experience the other day when I called an office to speak to the GM.
“Can you put me through to the boss.”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I cannot, he has gone.”
“Oh, I am sorry, hope he has got a better job.”
‘What job?’
“The one he has gone to, imagine it is a better deal.”
“I didn’t know the boss had another job, where is he going?”
“You tell me, you’re the one who said he’s gone.”
Fraught with danger, this sort of stuff. Could have the rumour factory doing double shift.
But nothing to beat the operator who said, honest, she did:
“I am sorry you cannot speak to him, he passed away from the office twenty minutes ago, do you want his contact number?”
