Don't call me!
Werbewoche editor Anne-Friederike Wilhelm on annoying iPhonists.
If you want to achieve something, you always have to be available. This applies to bankers and CEOs, and even more so to advertisers and journalists. It would be unthinkable to miss out on a big deal, an important budget or the story of the century. Just because the iPhone was switched off. A representative survey in August last year revealed that three quarters of working people can always be reached by colleagues, customers and the boss, even after the office closes. 36 percent of those surveyed can be called and emailed for work purposes at any time from Monday to Friday, four percent even at the weekend. They are probably only not always available for their wife or husband.
Carli Hirschmann, our shining example, can't do without his thing either: his favorite object is his Blackberry, he told Bilanz. And so he has already made his first million, "a million thoughts about women, love, sex and passion". That's nice. Really: All those who would like to be reached everywhere and feel good and successful as a result should be granted this pleasure. With two exceptions: Not on my ski lift, and not in my mountain pub: "Grüezi Mrs. Hürlimann! ... what? ... No, on the slopes ... yes, exactly, send the documents to Mr. Merz-Schneider and tell him I'll call him from the hotel tonight ..." Mr. Merz-Schneider probably already knows anyway, as loud as the ever-available Monsieur next to me is shouting into his cell phone. I hope I have at least witnessed a mega deal. Although I suspect that someone who manages their job from the ski lift only thinks about skiing when they're working.
Between telephoneitis and telephone terror
Even worse than those who are constantly reachable are the iPhonists with contact mania: while I try to enjoy the panorama and my meatloaf, this species swipes, drags and taps on their little device and ends up ringing through their entire phone list: "Hi, how are you? I'm in Lenzerheide ... in that case: see you then." I have already realized: This conversation was really important and a far cry from acoustic pollution. Particularly dangerous: phoneitis is contagious. The lady next to me is already nervously scrolling through her phone list and I'm already feeling sick.
I readily admit that having a cell phone on the slopes can definitely be an advantage. In "emergencies", if your best colleague hasn't turned up at the z Morge, if you or the ski group get lost, and of course if you end up under an avalanche. Locating your cell phone can save lives. But if Aunt Käthe, the boss and the worried neighbor call - just don't answer. I'm sure your people won't be angry if they don't know whether you have a platter or goulash soup in your stomach. Your fellow eaters and lifters will be grateful, as will your nerves.
During my skiing vacation, about ten people tried to reach me. Several of them several times. All in vain. I've never recovered so well.
Carli Hirschmann, our shining example, can't do without his thing either: his favorite object is his Blackberry, he told Bilanz. And so he has already made his first million, "a million thoughts about women, love, sex and passion". That's nice. Really: All those who would like to be reached everywhere and feel good and successful as a result should be granted this pleasure. With two exceptions: Not on my ski lift, and not in my mountain pub: "Grüezi Mrs. Hürlimann! ... what? ... No, on the slopes ... yes, exactly, send the documents to Mr. Merz-Schneider and tell him I'll call him from the hotel tonight ..." Mr. Merz-Schneider probably already knows anyway, as loud as the ever-available Monsieur next to me is shouting into his cell phone. I hope I have at least witnessed a mega deal. Although I suspect that someone who manages their job from the ski lift only thinks about skiing when they're working.
Between telephoneitis and telephone terror
Even worse than those who are constantly reachable are the iPhonists with contact mania: while I try to enjoy the panorama and my meatloaf, this species swipes, drags and taps on their little device and ends up ringing through their entire phone list: "Hi, how are you? I'm in Lenzerheide ... in that case: see you then." I have already realized: This conversation was really important and a far cry from acoustic pollution. Particularly dangerous: phoneitis is contagious. The lady next to me is already nervously scrolling through her phone list and I'm already feeling sick.
I readily admit that having a cell phone on the slopes can definitely be an advantage. In "emergencies", if your best colleague hasn't turned up at the z Morge, if you or the ski group get lost, and of course if you end up under an avalanche. Locating your cell phone can save lives. But if Aunt Käthe, the boss and the worried neighbor call - just don't answer. I'm sure your people won't be angry if they don't know whether you have a platter or goulash soup in your stomach. Your fellow eaters and lifters will be grateful, as will your nerves.
During my skiing vacation, about ten people tried to reach me. Several of them several times. All in vain. I've never recovered so well.
