Last Christmas saw record sales of mobile phones, so much so that the networks were close to collapse when many people made calls at peak periods. These devices, along with other electronic communications systems such as e-mail and instant messaging, are designed to keep people contactable all day, every day.
Has this phenomenon of constantly being wired resulted in our being able to make more efficient decisions and commitments, or are our messages now so casual that they defeat the purpose of communicating in the first place?
New technology embodies the future for business, but, for the moment, gadgets such as mobile phones seem to be used more for recreational purposes than for hard deals. A recent poll in a first-year computer science class in a Dublin university revealed that every student had a mobile phone. It may be, however, that the excessive use to which most mobiles are put will not necessarily lead to a more fulfilling social life for their owners.
For example, while out socialising, the mere presence of a mobile phone can lead to lower levels of social commitment. How many times have you been out with friends who keep sneaking a peek at the mobile, wondering if they have missed a call or a text message? Being contactable at all times means that it's very tempting to change one's mind and plans constantly, simply because it's so easy. There's no need to make a commitment for even a few hours; the eager friend is the wobbly focus of attention only until a better offer comes down the wire (or rather, wireless).
E-mail, too, is great for arranging all kinds of things, such as meeting up with friends for a holiday abroad. But how often are wildly enthusiastic messages sent backwards and forwards, each one omitting essential information such as flight numbers, hotel names and meeting-point details? Because another message can always be sent, none is vitally important. Not so long ago, a single letter, with all relevant details included, would suffice to announce the imminent arrival of a guest.
Having said that, highly focused traditional communications may have had more to do with physical location than with levels of commitment. In the past (and at present, in many parts of the world), people living in isolated places may have had to make do with very occasional opportunities for correspondence, but in James Joyce's Dublin there were up to four, or even five, postal deliveries a day. This meant that Joyce could post a letter to Nora Barnacle in the morning asking to meet her that afternoon, and could then expect to get a reply before seeing her.
Today, perhaps because of our now-miserable postal service, droves of people have turned to the Internet and email, and can check their messages as often as they wish. This can result in an unvarying level of commitment, regardless of who is being contacted or why.
What about our responses to these endless messages? Very often, when listening to someone else's mobile phone call, the first thing heard after the initial greeting is: "I'm on the bus/train/batter." This means that the first question the caller has asked is: "Where are you?" Obviously, hearing someone's voice is not enough; their whereabouts must also be visualised. Business callers get around this intrusion by enquiring politely, "Can you talk?", but this question is just another way of demanding the same response. Why do we have this great need to locate the person to whom we are speaking?
A MOBILE phone user's speaking tone seems to annoy surrounding strangers even more than does the extremely irritating, highpitched ring of the phone itself. Why does it bother us to hear someone speaking into a phone in a normal tone when we don't mind if this same person carries out the same conversation with someone sitting next to them? It's probably because we're nosey by nature, and it jars on the nerves to hear just one side of a conversation.
The same applies when we're forced to listen to a conversation carried out in an unknown language. Think of the complaints made each summer in Ireland about the loud "chattering and babbling" of foreign students. The real irritation is that otherwise enthusiastic eavesdroppers can't follow the conversation, so the desired passing of unsound and rash judgments, in which many of us excel, cannot take place.
What if both voice and ringing tone are obscenely loud? A friend in Los Angeles tells of hearing a lawyer screaming into his mobile in a packed toyshop: "Of course we'll deny it. That's what we always do. Otherwise we'll lose all these lawsuits!" And what about the woman in a crowded bank lobby, conversing at high volume to overcome the echoes created by the marble walls, who was heard shouting into her phone: "You must keep this absolutely between ourselves, but . . ." It took a while for people to re-evaluate the private/public space around the personal stereo; years went by before we learned to stop singing along to music nobody else could hear. Likewise, in time we should see the emergence of some mobile phone etiquette; for the moment, patience is required.
Never mind, there are other ways of staying in touch, such as using an online instant messaging system. This seems great at first because people can "chat" backwards and forwards in real time. The problem is that it can easily become intrusive and irritating, especially if you're trying to work and the person at the other end is bored and wants a bit of banter. Messages that should be short and to the point can go on and on, sometimes making it difficult for both parties to know when to call a halt. Many people ditch their instant messaging after a while, preferring the slower but ultimately more manageable e-mail system.
Circular e-mails are another phenomenon to which it can be difficult to respond. These letters are almost impersonal in form, as their writers are not thinking of one particular individual while composing. In a strange mix of private and public communication, a varied audience is catered to, and a great deal of time and care goes into each missive. But how is one to react to a long, sometimes boring letter that describes, in painful but loving detail, the intricacies of a long-emigrated friend's day-to-day family life? You feel obliged to reply, and you may have the best intentions, but often circular e-mails remain unanswered.
In the near future, the trend for remaining constantly in contact could go into reverse, with some people making themselves as unavailable as possible. Maybe certain mobile phone numbers will be highly sought after data, and who knows, the more influential or popular a person is, the more they could charge callers for the privilege of accepting their call.
So if you're one of the few people in the Republic who has yet to jump online and who does not have a mobile phone, resist the temptation to indulge, because soon you will be in great demand simply for the novelty value of being impossible to find. People will make sure to say all that's necessary when they do get hold of you, instead of suggesting that yet another phone call could be made later in the day to confirm already concrete plans.