Maybe Stop Saying, "Sorry to Bother You"
How to talk in a world of too much messaging & too little transparency
Every week, this newsletter discusses work culture problems. Stuff like petty coworkers, mistrustful managers, bad performance reviews, etc.
The kind of challenges felt by every professional in every organization.
But this week, I got a call from a reader named John Pikes, who got me thinking about a problem unique to one field in particular: corporate recruiters. They have to cold-call people who already have too many calls coming at them, too many emails, too many texts.
Wait. That’s everybody’s problem. Read on!
A Phonecall out of the Gray
I live in West Michigan, where winter’s dismalness is a six-month spiritual crisis. So this past weekend, I fled the gray, taking I-196W southward. Just as I got to the bottom of the state, I looked up and saw a bank of clouds straight out of the Old Testament. And on the other side of that bank—blue skies and Chicagoland sunshine!
My phone rang. It was John Pikes calling to chat about a recent issue of the newsletter. As a recruiter, he wanted to talk about the zaniness of American hiring.
A few minutes into the convo, I realized I didn’t know the half of the craziness.
John talked me through what it’s like to be a corporate recruiter in a world saturate with messaging and drained of trust. It’s a like trying to ping pong with 450 people around the same table.
Placing the Call in an Age of Over-Communication
Being a corporate recruiter means making hundreds of phone-calls a day, opening conversation after conversation with words like,
Hey there, I’m a development manager from Zing, and—how’s the day going for you?
It takes courage even to ask this question. Why? Because the field is absolutely swarming with other recruiters, each of whom is attempting the same small talk. According to IBIS world, there are nearly 12,000 recruiting firms in the U.S., employing a quarter-million recruiters. It’s a field dense with competition.
This isn’t just a problem for recruiters. Everybody’s inboxes are stuffed, everybody’s cellphone’s vibrating, everybody’s text threads are as long as the Michigan shoreline.
What you hope for, when opening a conversation, is an exchange like a ping pong game. You serve the ball. The other person returns. Then comes a a nice little volley.
Communication scholars call this fond vision an interactive model of communication.
But what recruiters experience is more like hyperactive communication. When John calls a candidate, he feels like he’s jumping into one of those multi-player pingpong matches with all the cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandpas, too. Everybody’s tearing around the table, grabbing for the paddle, slamming the ball. It takes speed and pluck.
How do you find the courage to communicate in a world of over-communication? Aristotle located this virtue between rashness and cowardice.
If you’re a brash communicator, you act as if you’re the only person in the callee’s life. Your phone-call or email feels like somebody smacked you in the face with a pingpong paddle.
If you’re a too-timid communicator, your message will feel like a cringey sorry-to-bother-you message that sends the ball under the table.
Being brash is rude. But being super-sorry isn’t much better. My advice? Don’t apologize for calling. Don’t say you know they’re busy. Don’t beg pardon for the intrusion. Look, you know they know you know how digitally overwhelmed everybody is. It’s the mainstream attention economy, baby, and we’re all just looking for the nearest paddle to swat every ball that comes onto our side of the table.
Instead, be a courageous communicator, and a lot of that comes down to vocal quality:
Speak with a full tone. (Give yourself plenty of breath support.)
Speak at a brisk rate. (Practice beforehand, learning exactly what you have to say.)
Speak with an unapologetic force. (Keep your volume up.)
Speak with a smile on your face and gesture as you talk. (Keep your body involved.)
Be kind. Be clear. Be non-cringey. And be utterly confident you’re bringing a good thing to the exchange.In some way—maybe not in every way—your work brings a needed thing to the world. Speak like someone your callee will be disappointed not to have talked to.
As you place your next call, use this mantra: Boldly bring the gift you bear.
Closing the Call in a Time of Too-Little Trust
John told me about another problem faced by recruiters, this one having to do with salary transparency. It used to be the case that recruiters could ask loaded questions like, “So tell me, whatcha making at your current job?”
It’s a nosey question, but a practical one. It makes a nice, clear sound in the middle of a conversation, like a forehand ball drive across the net. No English, no backspin, and anybody can make a good return back across the net.
But a number of states have legislated against salary history questions. They’re doing so for good reasons, attempting to protect worker rights. So in those parts of the country recruiters can’t ask about the pay at a previous job. (Is your state one of them? Check this graphic.)
Here’s the tricky part: John may be recruiting for a position in Texas where recruiters can ask whatever they darn well please, but your candidate may be a Michigander—and in that state, everything about salary history is left in the gray murk of a Grand Rapids February.
John ends up asking a lot of invitational questions, hoping the candidate will fess up. It takes some deftness. But if the candidate is tightlipped, the conversation can feel like playing pingpong blindfolded.
So, here’s my advice for communicators in a context characterized by under-communication and scant transparency: end the call graciously. I’m talking tact, right? Attunement. A feel for what’s fitting. Sometimes, there’s grace in letting the conversation go when information’s scanty.
I recommend the grace of letting go, even though it too takes courage. But practicing this sort of tact shows know the constraints. That knowing builds trust.
And if you’re looking for communicative tips for speaking with grace, see the list above. The sound of courage and the sound of grace have a lot in common.
A Final Thought
I’m glad John called me. After thinking about his recruiting story, I’m coming away with a mode-switch.
It might seem that the safest route through the gray and murk of professional communication today is to constantly apologize. “So sorry to bother you!” “Hate to interrupt!” “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you.” But, look, inconveniencing others is the mostly fortunate, sometimes burdensome, always human cost of connecting.
Communicating in a world of over-communication doesn’t require hesitancy or tentativeness. It requires courage.
Communicating in a world of under-transparency doesn’t require going on and on. It requires a savvy akin to grace.
Pounce on the Podcast
If you missed last Friday’s pod convo, you missed hearing a Boomer, a Xillennial, and an Xer diagnose the brokenness of performance reviews. Check the issue out on Spotify to learn how Emily, Ken, and I fantasize about the evals we wish for.
Listen While You Work
Have you spotted the contradiction in today’s newsletter? I’m trying to help you deal with communication saturation by adding to the saturation. I’m so sorry to bother—wait, nix that. Instead, as you’re turning to other tasks, try this TalkTooMuch playlist.