If people used all the time they spend reading books on productivity hacks to actually work, all their productivity problems would be solved. Now, from time to time those books contain pearls of wisdom. In Time Wise, Amantha Imber has a brief chapter whose title already exudes common sense: "Why you have to say no to meetings for coffee." This is splendid advice for anyone who identifies with the following situation.
We receive an email in which a person we do not know wants to meet for coffee. These types of requests are received with some frequency. This could be someone who is starting their career and wants guidance on how to progress in their field. It may be a self-employed person looking for work. In this case, the sender, whose name is Cassie and got our name from a vaguely known colleague, thinks there may be a way for the companies to collaborate.
Not that we're looking forward to meeting Cassie. On the other hand, saying that she doesn't want to meet someone, under any circumstances, seems a bit rude. The meeting is weeks away, and the agenda seems clear. We like coffee. And if you want to change jobs, Cassie could be a useful contact. Also, the name of her company is familiar: it is possible that something useful will come out of the conversation. Ignoring instinct, we answer yes.
The morning of the meeting arrives, and "Coffee with Cassie" appears on the agenda. Who the hell is Cassie? We look up the conversation in our inbox, curse ourselves for accepting the appointment, and for a moment the thought of canceling crosses our minds. Just then an email arrives from Cassie saying how much she is looking forward to the meeting. Damn. We confirm the time and place, although we add that we only have half an hour.
We walk into the diner and then realize we have no idea what Cassie is like. We approach other people, who are clearly expecting other equally absurd meetings; just then, an apology text arrives from Cassie saying that she will be about five minutes late. The only thing we are determined to get out of that meeting is a coffee, so we order it and find a table. In a victory of hope over experience, we've brought a notebook with us: we wrote the date and Cassie's name and company at the top of the sheet.
We text her that we're at the table next to a man in a pink sweater, who leaves almost immediately. Ten minutes later someone appears, scanning the room at the level of the sweaters. He silently utters Cassie's name, she does the same for ours: two guppies in an aquarium. It's Cassie. She goes to get her coffee, which takes another five minutes. Half a meeting has passed and there has still been no meeting.
Cassie sits up. The ritual demands an exchange of topics. There is an exchange of information that will never be useful to anyone: until what time of day can you drink coffee without affecting your night's sleep, how many days a week are you in the office now, how does she know the colleague who has made intermediary. Then there is confirmation of things already known by both (the functions performed at work) and unnecessary details are added (the time worked in the company).
There are about ten minutes left. We asked Cassie to talk a bit more about the opportunities that she brought up when that had seemed like a good idea. She says something about a data set that might be of interest to our company. We say something back to her about analytics, just because she makes us sound slightly innovative. She responds with a reference to artificial intelligence. The suspicion is that neither of them really knows what is going on. Then we realize that the notebook in front of us continues with the immaculate page, so we write “data analytics” and “artificial intelligence”, just to imply that all this could lead somewhere.
The coffee has run out, and the 30 minutes have passed. We say we have to go. While we wait to pay (and we wait a long time), we share a few more useless facts: what we'll both do next, how long she'll be in town. It is almost possible to feel our neurons deciding that there are no worthwhile memories there. There is agreement on both sides that it has been a pleasure to meet, even if that has not been the case, and that contact will be maintained, even if it is not to be.
Not all of those encounters are a flop. Giving advice to young people, for example, is usually the right thing to do (although the kind of young people who ask for advice are not usually the ones who need help). The problem is the coffee. Imber's recommendation is to forego caffeine and schedule a call during downtime (during your commute, for example). It could happen that those moments were spent profitably; but if it is not, one will not feel that one has wasted one's time. When it comes to coffee and meetings, the problem is the combination.
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Translation: Juan Gabriel López Guix
