Editor's note: Greg Rathjen is a principal of Marketecture, an Alpharetta, Ga., research firm. He can be reached at grathjen@marketecture-marketing-research.com. This article appeared in the March 12, 2012, edition of Quirk's e-newsletter.

I may be one of the few marketing researchers who can claim to have been the basis for a minor character in a novel. I mention this dubious claim to fame because recent events in presenting research findings triggered memories of the novel's author's writing process. Let me tell the story and circle back to my main theme: meetings with participants who are there - but not there.

My role in the novel came about when I was part of a research team at an advertising agency in Chicago in the early '80s. Despite trying to keep my Ph.D. as low-key as possible, the folks in the creative department started calling me "Doc." The nickname was used sometimes lightheartedly but more often than not it suggested I was over-intellectualizing some obscure consumer finding.

One creative director was an edgy but respected talent who would come to presentations about our research findings with a stack of note cards. She would scribble away at length for the duration of the meeting. At the time, I assumed she was writing furiously so as not to miss anything that might improve her creative product. A few years later, she published a novel based on two campaigns the agency had worked on for its major clients. It didn't take much to figure out who was who and what real events were behind the storyline, even down to nicknaming the research director "Doc."

This was all in the olden days before laptops, smartphones and PowerPoint slideshows. Today she wouldn't have stacks of note cards; she would have a laptop open, typing away. She probably wouldn't have the smartphone as part of her arsenal, as she was smart enough to know that impressions matter. Being too obvious about her alternate project would inform the powers that be that she was not really there.

Fast-forward to today. Let me share two experiences I've recently had that reminded me of this novelist's behavior.

Tale one

The first story involves sharing a complex segmentation study with five people in a small conference room. The study had been commissioned by the client but managed by the advertising agency. I presented to the client, a research colleague of mine and three from the agency. The client and my colleague were highly engaged. They made eye contact; their body language communicated that they were connecting with me and the content; and their questions and comments were on target, challenging and exhilarating. The three agency players, however, showed different levels of engagement. One was 90 percent there with only a few furtive glances at the smartphone placed on her lap under the table. The other two appeared deeply bored and in search of any distraction they could find. They both had their laptops in front of them and their smartphones next to them. One spent countless time brazenly reading and texting on his smartphone. While these two had seen parts of the presentation before, they had not seen it all, nor had they seen how their client would react. Nonetheless, by all accounts, the meeting was a success. The client was happy and we got paid. I did wonder how much more could have been achieved if the distracted participants had engaged. I knew my presentation would have been stronger had I not kept wondering why my audience was so disconnected.

Tale two

The second of my tales is in the same vein. This time, the CMO had called a half-day meeting of his full department and outside strategy partners to grapple with some sticky, unresolved marketing issues. A few were asked to present summaries of studies and past responses to the problems faced. Everyone was excited; everyone came prepared and anxious to contribute. A few minutes after the CMO announced the purpose and passed the meeting off to the first presenter, out came his smartphone. On and off for the duration of the meeting, he continued to be distracted from what we were doing and occasionally left the room abruptly to take a call. There was no effort to hide the device and his behavior was not lost on the now-deflated enthusiasm of those there to contribute.

These two examples are anecdotal, of course, and as a researcher I don't know if these are isolated experiences or part of a broader epidemic in boorish behaviors and lost opportunities. However, I do know that the players involved in both examples are serial offenders; they're not the only ones; and research colleagues have shared similar war stories. So if it is a trend, it's disturbing.

I find myself wondering about this behavior and what inspires it:

 

What is it that cannot wait the hour or so the presentation will take?

 

Are the distracted not aware of the unintended consequences that come from focusing on the smartphone and not the meeting?

 

How do they miss that there is more to being a meeting participant than waiting for the presenter to finish?

I am sure they have their reasons:

"I'm overworked and multitasking is my survival mechanism."

"Why waste my time with the whole thing when I only came for a piece of it?"

"It's not my fault. I have to be instantly and immediately available for my bosses, period." 

 

"Who is the important person here? You, the vendor? Or me, the client?"

Whatever the answers and the justifications, I'd like to offer some recommendations. 

 

Fake it (aka look like you are present)

There is much to be said for the art of faking it. The people in the earlier examples had no shame about what they were doing. At least my novelist knew there was a line she shouldn't cross in faking interest at a meeting. One of my respondents in a focus group told about how her teenage daughter had crossed the line when she saw her texting as she knelt at the altar awaiting communion. There are expectations of being present and showing regard for the speaker that need to be revisited.

Don't bother (aka skip the meeting)

Maybe at some point the face-time spent in meetings will be a thing of the past. More and more presentations are being done on conference calls. But until meetings are obsolete, there should be a rule that no one can attend a meeting simply to earn credit for attending. There is some irony in a logic that says I must make an appearance at a meeting to impress by virtue of my presence but go on to make a bad impression by being inattentive during the meeting. Face-to-face interaction carries some burdens and responsibilities that require different behaviors. If you're not up to those responsibilities, simply don't go.

Just do it (aka engage)

For my final example, I'd like to recount a meeting in which I presented research findings to a company president, two top executives and two board members. The audience also included several marketing researchers and marketing executives across the corporation. Unlike tales one and two, there was not a smartphone to be found. Before I could even show the first slide I was peppered with questions about the study purposes and how the findings could or would be used. The discussion was nonstop, with questions, comments and offshoot speculations by virtually everyone in the room. No one was too important to ask a dumb question. No one was too removed to be caught off-guard when the conversation steered their way. Ninety minutes later I was exhausted but extremely pleased that what was shared mattered enough to inspire that kind of depth and intensity. What was sad was how it stood out as an exception when it should be the rule. 

 

Crossed a line 

 

There is something about in-person communication that can't be garnered by reading in isolation or tweeting back and forth. Pauses mean something. Body language is telling. Tone and passion shape direction. Synergy can become infectious. Someone needs to tell the overly-disengaged and -distracted that they have crossed a line and that they need better engagement skills.

However, I do think the meeting behavior issue is a symptom of something larger. We are experiencing increasing demands to do more and to do it faster. We are faced with more and more sources and quantities of information that overwhelm and make critical thinking almost impossible. There needs to be a balance.


I doubt I'll ever be the basis for a character in a novel again. If I write more diatribes like this one, I may be the basis for a character like Peter Finch's in a marketing research remake of Network. I'll be the one shouting at the front of a conference room, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!"

 

Of course, the Faye Dunaway character will simply look up from her smartphone to say, "What did you say again? I was distracted."