From the desk of Roland Rocchiccioli – 10 January

Once it was so simple. You dialled the number. It rang at the other end and a telephonist answered. In seconds you were connected to whomever, or they took a message on one of those ubiquitous yellow message pads with a carbon copy. Remember?

THESE days it is so protracted.

I have a hankering to meet the nerd who invented the push button one, push button two contraption. I want to shove his revolutionary invention where the monkey shoves his peanuts!

I attempted to phone Dan Murphy’s Ballarat. After listening to a diatribe of useless information, I was, finally, able to speak with a person, except they were not, when I enquired, in Ballarat. He was, he informed me, on the hotline – whatever that means. His words were, “What do you want?” I let that one go through to the keeper. No point, I thought.

To add insult to injury, it is a 1300 number. My plan provides free calls except for 1300. They cost 40-cents a call.

After almost five-minutes of waiting and listening, it took him 20 seconds to tell me they do not stock Sloe Gin at Dan Murphy’s Ballarat. I called BWS (also owned by Woolworth’s) where the sales assistant answered immediately and provide the answer in twenty-seconds.

Both, June Dally-Watkins, who ran a modelling and etiquette school in Sydney, and Elly Lucas, who ran her School of Elegance in Melbourne, must be turning in their graves. The modelling school aside, June Dally devoted her professional life to training young women to become perfect telephonists and receptionists. Her graduates were much sought after by major companies. As they used to say: many of the girls trained by Miss Dally married well!

The advent of the answering machine and recorded messages has become the bane of everyone’s life. There are those who leave their phone constantly diverted to the message bank. The conundrum is, why? They never return calls because they are too busy being busy! Others use their answering machine to screen calls.

It may be considered odd, but should the phone ring, I answer it. If it is an unsolicited call, I hang-up the receiver. Simple. It is not splitting the atom. If it should be Samantha (it is an ancient Indian name) phoning from NBN and threatening to disconnect my service, I play games with until I am bored, at which point they get a flea in their ear, and I hang-up.

You have to wonder if anyone within the company management structure ever listens to the recorded messages with which, as a captive audience, we are unwillingly bombarded. Why would you say in a recording: ‘One of our friendly receptionists will be with you shortly’? Does it follow they also have unfriendly receptionists; a team of short-tempered staff tasked with dealing brusquely with recalcitrant callers?

It is a curious thing, but rarely, if ever, does the person answering the phone return the salutation, good morning or afternoon.

At the risk of sounding like a dinosaur, which certainly I am not, it appears, sometimes, that civility has disappeared, almost entirely, from our lives. I realise the problem is mine. I need to alter my thinking; however, politeness is so ingrained – like a response to stimuli – it infuriates me when I am the recipient of unintentional indifference, and perfunctory rudeness. I have to accept that people are not going to change; they behave as well as they know how. I am the old dog. I need to learn new tricks.

An unsympathetic colleague said of my wittering, “Suck-it-up, Buttercup!”

Roland can be heard each Monday 10.45am on 3BA and contacted via [email protected].