You know those calls, right? The ones that just make you sigh before you even pick up. Or maybe halfway through, you’re just staring at the ceiling, wondering how you got here. I’ve had my fair share, and I’ve even got a name for a particularly soul-sucking type: the “george call.”
My First Real “George Call”
I remember this one time, years back. I was working on this project, pretty straightforward stuff, I thought. Then the client calls. Let’s just say, for the sake of the story, the main contact was a fella, let’s call him “George.” Not his real name, obviously, but he perfectly embodied the spirit of what was to come. This call, man, it was something else. He started asking for things that were, like, totally out of left field. Things that made no sense with what we’d agreed, what we’d scoped, what was even technically feasible without, you know, rebuilding the entire universe.
I tried to explain. Patiently, I thought. Walked him through the original plan, the implications of his new ideas. But it was like talking to a very polite, very insistent brick wall. He’d nod, say “yes, yes, I understand,” and then circle right back to his wild, unrelated demand. That was my first real taste of what I now call a “george call.” It wasn’t just about a difficult client with a new idea. It was about a fundamental, almost surreal disconnect. Like we were on different planets, trying to discuss the color of the sky.
The Pattern Emerges
After that baptism by fire, I started seeing “george calls” pop up more often. Or maybe I just started recognizing them for what they were. It wasn’t always a “George” on the other end. Sometimes it was a different person, sometimes it was an internal meeting that went completely off the rails. The common thread? A whole lot of talking, a ton of my effort trying to steer things, and very little actual progress. You’d spend an hour, maybe two, on the phone, hang up, and realize you were actually further behind than when you started. Your energy? Gone. Kaput.
- One time, it was about a tiny design tweak, should’ve been a five-minute discussion, tops. It spiraled into a two-hour philosophical debate about the very concept of a button. Seriously. I almost lost my mind.
- Another time, the requirements for a simple report changed three times during the call. I was just sitting there, scribbling furiously, trying to keep my notes straight, feeling like my brain was turning into scrambled eggs. Each change negated the last.
It was exhausting. Pure and simple. Drained the life right out of you and made you question your career choices. Just kidding… mostly.
Trying to Tame the Beast (and Failing Mostly)
So, naturally, I tried different things. I thought, okay, maybe I need to be more prepared. My fault, right? So, I’d prepare these super detailed agendas, outlines, even pre-written answers to questions I anticipated. Send them out beforehand, clear as day. You know what happened? Most of the time, they wouldn’t even read ’em. Or they’d glance at ’em and then proceed to ignore everything. Classic “george call” maneuver.
Then I tried being super patient. The Zen master approach. Let them talk, nod along, try to find that tiny speck of common ground, if it even existed. Sometimes it helped a tiny bit, maybe shaved off ten minutes of circular arguments. But mostly, it just meant the “george call” lasted longer, and I was the one doing all the emotional labor. More time spent, same result: confusion, frustration, and a desperate need for coffee.
I even tried being really, really direct. No fluff, just the facts. “This won’t work because X, Y, and Z.” That sometimes backfired spectacularly. People would get defensive. Because the problem with a “george call,” I realized, isn’t always malice, you know? Sometimes it’s just… a special kind of cluelessness, or a total inability to see the bigger picture beyond their immediate, often contradictory, desire.
What I Learned (The Hard Way, Of Course)
Eventually, I kinda just accepted it. “George calls” are a part of the landscape, like an annoying mosquito in summer or those meetings that could have been an email. You can’t always avoid them, especially when they come from certain directions, if you catch my drift.
What I did learn, though, was to spot them earlier. There’s this little tell-tale sign, an itch at the back of my neck when the conversation starts to drift into that familiar, nonsensical territory. That’s the alarm bell ringing loud and clear: “Warning! Approaching George Call Nebula!”
And when I spot one? Well, I still gotta go through with it most times. That’s the job. But my expectations are different now. I don’t go in expecting miracles or sudden clarity. I just try to steer it as best I can, document everything like my life depends on it (because sometimes, my project’s life does), and then schedule a fifteen-minute break afterwards to stare blankly at a wall or, you know, vent about it to anyone who will listen, like I’m doing now with you folks. It’s not about winning the “george call,” because you rarely can. It’s about surviving it with your sanity mostly intact and minimizing the damage.
And sometimes, just sometimes, you gotta know when to politely but firmly say, “Look, I don’t think we’re getting anywhere productive right now. Let’s take a pause, maybe we can both think about this, and regroup tomorrow/next week/never.” Though that’s a tough one to pull off, especially when it’s your boss who’s initiating the “george call.” Ha! Good luck with that.
So yeah, that’s my little practice record on the “george call.” Maybe you have your own name for it. But I bet you know exactly the kind of delightful experience I’m talking about. We’ve all been there, haven’t we?
