The sound of a blank stare

I know what a blank stare sounds like because I heard one this morning, on the telephone. It was from a young lady who was most likely doing work experience at a PR house. Either that or a she was a new recruit who’ll almost certainly not see the other side of the probationary period. My name’s quite easy to pronounce, but she got it very wrong indeed, before asking to see a “synopsis for your volp”.

“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” she said.

And there it was: Almost inaudible, a faint whistle blowing back and forth down the phone line. The sound of a blank stare.

So I asked her to send me an email. We’ll see if she manages.

It’s not really fair to get work experience kids in to do journo ring-rounds. Ask any PR what they hate doing most and they’ll tell you it’s the ring-round, especially the one that – as sure as night follows day – comes in the wake of an emailed press release. It’s the telephonic equivalent of using the toilets on the last night of the Reading Festival when the hoover truck’s broken down. You’ve got to do it, even though it’s really unpleasant. It takes skill, resilience and grim determination, three things that your average 15-year old work experience girl probably doesn’t have.

So here’s what I’m going to do (because this stuff happens a lot). I’m going to get some work experience kids in here, whose sole task will be to answer the phone. Because if you’re going to get some poor child to phone me up who has no understanding of what she’s doing – and ought not to anyway, because the freedom of childhood is sacred and should be eked out for as long as possible – then I’m going to as well. They can talk to each other. Or not.

Blank stares are what teenagers are good at, after all.