In all the decades I have worked, I have never once used the "out-of-office" notification for my emails. I'm not sure whether that's because in my first career, as a full-time journalist, we were always encouraged to be available. But in France, as of January 1 this year, that is all about to change. Employees will be able to say no to out-of-office tech checks as French companies will be forced to guarantee their employees have a "right to disconnect" from technology.
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In retrospect, I don't think permanent connection to our jobs as journalists was just for the convenience of our bosses – although I'm absolutely sure they loved calling me in the maternity hospital just hours after my first-born arrived. It was also because you never knew when those who had stories to tell might want to tell those stories. And it's true that many of those who have contacted me over the years have used a late-night email to unload. Could it have waited until the morning? Perhaps. But sometimes a late night chat is when you are most relaxed.
But as an academic, I have no excuse to keep looking at my emails (although I am often persuaded by the intensity of 18-year-olds for whom every feeling of inadequacy is both critical and crucial – I have to explain that while they are sentient they will feel like this about everything). I answer emails at all hours of the day and night because I can't bear the pile on my return. I have, today, 241 unopened emails – but most of those can wait. It's the 12 I opened on Christmas Eve eve, the last working day for lots of Australians, which made me wonder about what some people consider urgent. Believe me, telling me when the pay office is open is not urgent. Telling me who my human resources "partner" is during the break is not urgent (in fact, almost nothing HR ever does is urgent. HR is always code for representing the interests of the employer at all times and should be renamed BR in the interests of accuracy).
But what would it do if we stopped checking our emails and our work social media accounts during our time off?
A couple of things, instantly. Hiring practices would change. And our expectations.
The people who employ us would have to recognise that their social media accounts, for instance, should be adequately staffed 24 hours a day, seven days a week, by people who are paid to work over that particular time. About three years ago, I met a young woman who worked for one of the big four banks and managed their most-complained-to Twitter feed. She basically triaged 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And was paid for 35 hours. Nice exploitation if you can make it work for you but it didn't work for her. She was a wreck, waking during the night to see what fresh hell the online banking portal had unleashed on her unsuspecting customers.
Research from the Australia Institute tells me that the average full-time worker in Australia loses 5.1 hours per week to unpaid overtime – or 264 hours per year; and describes that as "time theft". It also says that across Australia unpaid overtime reduces worker incomes by $116 billion per year. Which is tremendous for employers but not so good for our families who keep saying things like: "Put the phone away, Mum."
What would happen to me if I didn't check my emails? What would happen if I put a notification on which said: "Please resend your email at 9am on the first working day, otherwise I won't respond."
Well, that's an interesting proposition. A couple of years ago, I sent an email to a colleague at about 6pm on a Friday night. I got this bounceback.
"I'm trialling a new app. Any email sent to me on weekends will be automatically deleted. Please make sure you resend your email on Monday."
It blew me away. Partly the idea that a colleague thought this was OK and partly that I would have to redo work I'd already done. That response put the onus on me to remember to resend the email.
I've just checked, I never sent it and he never replied. Shame he missed out on a zillion dollars. Joke. Anyhow, that bounceback, maybe the imperious tone, made me engage with how I could manage my waterfall of emails without sounding like a jerk.
My solution is to be as brief as possible, sometimes not even a full sentence. At the beginning of each teaching period, I explain to new students that I will do my very best to answer them but sometimes my answers will be one or two words long. It won't begin with dear or end with regards. Just the basic necessary information. I no longer answer questions late at night (the screen time was interrupting my sleep patterns) but I'm OK early in the morning. With the help of Graham Allcott, I came to realise that inbox should not be my "to-do" list because all that meant was that others were constructing my work day. And as he quite rightly points out, I had to stop confusing connectivity with productivity.
It's not perfect and it's not congruent with my paid working hours but in some ways, I've already built my own "right to disconnect".
I've spent my life saying yes because I wanted to but, just like the French, it's time to say non, not now.
Twitter: @jennaprice
