Share this
Mister Wong
Digg
Del.icio.us
Slashdot
Furl
Yahoo
Technorati
Newsvine
Googlize this
Blinklist
Facebook
Wikio
Hear this text
Print
E-mail
It’s just plain rude to not turn upI am a cad. Not for the first time, I had accepted an invitation to an event and failed to pitch. It’s something I try like the devil to avoid, as it is not only bad manners, but sets a precedent when people think about inviting you again. And, of course, it’s just plain rude.
Sure, we all do it. We forget we said yes; it sounded like a great idea two weeks ago and then we decide on the night that we are just not that into it.
We haul out the stock excuses that the babysitter let us down. One of the kids is sick, or “it’s not me, it’s the wife/husband (insert relevant relative here) who is just not feeling up to coming”.
But that’s if we bother calling at all.
I recently attended a breakfast event in Cape Town as the MC. It was for a government road show initiative, dealing with the transport industry and HIV/Aids. Particularly pertinent, as World Aids Day was just around the corner.
A conference facility had been hired (V&A Waterfront, complete with sea vistas), along with audiovisual equipment, staff and catering. Bedazzling invites had been sent out and the responding RSVPs led the organisers to believe that a crowd of between 120 and 150 people would be attending.
As it was a morning event, guests were asked to arrive at 7h30 a.m. for 8 a.m. Not a big ask, and given it was an industry event, the likelihood for a good turnout boded well.
Upon my arrival that morning, I could only but be impressed. With no taxpayer’s expense spared, the venue was decked out fit for BEE moguls’ “commitment ceremony” to a soap actress. It truly looked a magnificent affair.
The only thing missing were the guests.
By 8:15 a.m. the only attendees in the vast room were those who were giving speeches. Certificates and awards, laid out in splendour on the podium awaiting their well-deserving recipients, outnumbered staff and guests a dozen to one.
Just in case, the event organiser’s staff had been dispatched to the conference venue’s entrance to round up any lost attendees who might have misread the more-than-adequate invite map.
By 9 a.m. five more people had arrived, giving the speechmakers a smattering of an audience and the vague possibility of applause post-oratory.
By 9:30 a.m. the caterers were sweating. With breakfast now on hold for 150 people, their ability to keep the scrambled egg from becoming Indian rubber, while simultaneously keeping the halaal macon from drying out, had become almost mercurial.
I realised we were in real trouble when at 10 a.m. (two hours after the event was due to start), the organisers asked my agent (attending to ensure the process for me ran smoothly), if she would like to join the head table.
She had become the hired help; there in a vague attempt to fool the attending executives into thinking there was a bigger crowd. Comparative only to bussing in ‘supporters’ to a political rally; except she was taking a 20% cut of my fee and could now have her fill of macon and coffee.
By 10:30 a.m. we had run out of excuses. The fact that traffic was bad, the venue was hard to find or that parking may be of a premium on a Friday morning in the V&A had worn thin. They were, after all, just that – excuses – made on behalf of some 120 people who had RSVP’ed to an event and had simply decided not to pitch.
Some had rung the office and apologised. Kids sick, end-of-the-week office deadlines or simply “run into logistical problems”.
The majority of the intended attendees could not be bothered to turn up or at the very least let that fact be known to the organisers. It was a mass breaching of failed RSVPs – and it stunk.
I felt for the organisers who had put so much effort into the setup. I felt for the venue owners who took to acutely examining the carpet at their feet to avoid looking anyone in the eyes. The only person who was having a vaguely good morning was my agent, stuffed to the brim on faux-religious bacon and commission cheques.
The event went ahead, albeit scaled down. The microphone became superfluous. It wasn’t needed in order to reach both tables sitting in front of me. Speakers agreeably cut their speeches short, thanked those who had arrived for attending, I made weak jokes about helping oneself to the buffet, and we wrapped.
A postmortem with the organisers saw them reaching for excuses and reasons for the failure. Sadly, the truth was they had not failed.
However, nigh on a hundred people had. In both etiquette and manners and without a moment’s thought to what their non-arrival would mean.
This was an industry road show based on supplying critical HIV healthcare and awareness to the trucking industry. Whether this event will happen again is in doubt. Why waste money on this scale again and risk the same disastrous results?
Perhaps because we believe there will be a big crowd and no one will notice our absence, we don’t feel the need to let someone know we are not coming. In theory, that’s true. Until in practice, the crowd itself does not arrive and you are left standing naked with the tide out.
RSVP: répondez s’il vous plait. It’s French for “please reply”. Even to say you won’t be there.
Richard Hardiman
