Automation: How do we value the personal touch?

As a person of a certain age, I hesitate before passing comment on advances in technology and automation. When I started out as a trainee accountant in a rural community, the job revolved around bookkeeping and ‘incomplete records’, often presented as an unsorted collection of papers held together with bailer twine. I would summarise and analyse and post to an extended trial balance, and a colleague would enter the final figures into a template set of accounts using a piece of tec called a ‘word processor’.

The process was repetitive and often frustrating and (in retrospect) quite dull. The sense of satisfaction I felt from producing a set of accounts I now get from completing the daily sudoku on my phone. The point I’m trying to make is that the effective use of technology can make our working lives more interesting, but it cannot replace our personal interactions with clients (and others) – the interactions during which we demonstrate our understanding and our talents, and during which we often enjoy recognition and gratitude.

I'd like to cite two examples in which technology and automation (in my opinion) threaten the personal touch and perhaps fail to recognise its value. These examples make me wonder what it is about the user that makes them want to minimise their exposure to human interaction. The first example is that of appointment scheduling software. I’m trying not to use any names, but you know the sort of thing: somebody requests an online meeting; you agree to it (perhaps a little flattered by the request); and then you’re sent a link to an app inviting you to select a 30-minute slot. At that point, I realise three things:

• the person suggesting the meeting thinks I’m only worth 30 minutes of their time (sometimes less);

• they have lots of back-to-back meetings throughout the day, and so they won’t have time to action anything arising from those meetings; and

• they don’t think I’m worth a discussion about how long the meeting should take and when is the best time for both of us.

As a result, I tend to feel that the proposed meeting is more about their needs than mine, and I would usually decline the meeting.

My second example concerns software that sorts emails received. One might ask the question: ‘If you’re so busy that you can’t read and sort your own emails, will you be too busy for me?’ Surely, it is reasonable for me to be concerned about emailing someone who may not get round to reading my email (because an algorithm says it’s not important enough)?

By way of example, I had an introductory online meeting with someone who started the meeting by talking about the new email soring app they were using. It saved lots of time because it could isolate those emails that didn’t need a response and it could prioritise those that did. (It seems simply identifying spam isn’t good enough anymore.) The meeting was pleasant and positive, after which I sent a thoughtful email, highlighting some concerns I had and providing some clear (and free) advice. Almost two months later, I am still awaiting an acknowledgement (let alone thanks). Had I been unaware that the email sorting app was being used, I might have thought the recipient of the email rude.

In conclusion, I’d like to provide a friendly caution against relying too heavily on software in situations where human interaction carries significant value. The benefits of saving yourself time should be weighed against the potential cost of giving the impression you think your time is more valuable than that of the other person. I value my time, and I value yours! So, I want to focus my time and effort on people who have similar values. A personal touch – a ‘human’ touch, if you prefer – is important to me. I hope it’s important to most other people too!