Emer McLysaght: ‘A phone call without warning is an act of aggression’

There was a man in the news last week who, despite being lost for 24 hours on Colorado's highest mountain, didn't answer his phone to rescuers because he didn't recognise the number. "A fool!" you might crow, "a selfish time-waster," you may bleat, but if I was up that mountain in the fast-fading light and encroaching animal sounds and an unknown number popped up on my homescreen, I too might take my chances with the bears and the Blair Witches.

The millennial generation (born roughly between 1980 and the mid-1990s) was the first to really lean into phone call anxiety. Despite being raised with landlines and payphones, they were the first to adopt text messaging as youngsters and grow up almost completely computer literate.

It's now perfectly acceptable to just gaze at your screen as it pulses away, smug in the knowledge that you're thwarting a criminal who's trying to steal your identity

The extra layer of distance created by texts and emails turned the simple phone call into a mildly aggressive act demanding immediacy of thought and social skill.

Why have a tough conversation on the phone when you could just draft and redraft your words before sending? Why risk missing vital information when you’re on the move when you could just have it all in writing? And why put yourself in a position where you might be forced to make a decision on the spot when you could have time to mull and politely decline or accept?

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On a more practical level, the proliferation of mobile phones in the late 1990s and early 2000s also came with the reality that every minute and second equalled money spent. Phone calls would gobble away at your precious credit while text messages were sometimes free and always measurable.

My phone rarely rings, not because nobody wants to contact me but because I conduct the majority of my communication via WhatsApp, email or direct message. To me, a ringing phone means one of two things: bad news, or somebody wants something from me – and neither scenario is appealing when going in blind.

I would never ring a friend without first texting them to warn them I’m about to ring and I’d probably reassure them that “it’s nothing bad, promise” to really ease them into the situation. If I am communicating vocally it’s most likely to be via WhatsApp’s voicenote function, which is the greatest thing to happen to gossip since the first Neanderthal made wall art to depict the scandal going on between the couple in the next cave. Nothing is more thrilling than seeing “Laura is recording” across the top of your screen. And the voicenote gives you control over how you digest the information and how you respond.

My Aisling co-author Sarah Breen and I use voicenotes a lot when we're in the final editing stages of our books, firing quick "voiceys" over and back that we can replay as needed. I would never attack Sarah with a traditional phone call with warning her first and I know she in return would never be the aggressor on the other end of an unexpected ringer.

Scam phone calls are a nuisance of course but if we are looking for the silver lining in the cloud cover of scams, it’s that they’ve really relieved us of any residual obligation to answer the phone, particularly when it’s a number you don’t recognise.

Of course, missed calls can often lead to a fate worse than death: a voicemail

It’s now perfectly acceptable to just gaze at your screen as it pulses away, smug in the knowledge that you’re either thwarting a criminal who’s trying to steal your identity and your fortune or merely thwarting a bona fide bank employee who’s trying to steal your fortune via the legal route.

Of course, missed calls can often lead to a fate worse than death: a voicemail. I find voicemails so tortuous that for a long time my outgoing message was set as “I never check my voicemails so please text or email and I will get back to you.” It really destroyed a good bit of my faith in the human race when many people persisted in leaving voicemails. I eventually undertook the gargantuan task of removing the voicemail capability from my phone entirely which involves leaving a hummingbird’s feather on a lily pad under the seventh full moon of the year then turning around three times and spitting on a Nokia 3210. When I returned from my voicemail cancelling journey, I felt lighter and freer.

There are times when an old-fashioned phone call is welcome. I have a couple of friends who still favour it and I am always happy to settle in for the occasional long chat. I take a lot of work calls but they are almost always pre-arranged and therefore dreaded for at least 36 hours in advance. My phone is set to complete silence about 98 per cent of the time so even if someone was to attempt a guerrilla call, I would be blissfully unaware.

And if I was lost for 24 hours on a Colorado mountain, I would send 23 panicked voicenotes before any rescue team even got their hands on my phone number.