Slack? Phone? Teams? Zoom? There Are Too Many Work Communications
Workplaces become saturated with ways to talk, often breeding mistakes and misunderstandings
4 min
Lisa Donovan was juggling pings from multiple Slack channels and email windows when she inadvertently sent a sensitive company document to the wrong person.
The part-time accountant for a Virginia-based academic coaching firm toggles between 30 instant-messaging channels, four client-email accounts and at least a dozen phone or video calls a day, she says.
“It’s, like, ‘Are we on Zoom? Are we on Teams? Did I respond to that? Did I say it right?’” says Ms. Donovan, who works from Richmond, Texas.
There are so many ways to communicate at work that our communication is breaking down. Bosses say missed messages and crossed signals waste time and trigger mistakes, while research suggests that so much virtual communication makes it easier to snipe at or ignore co-workers. Then there’s the stress of having to stay on top of so many different channels all the time.
Microsoft Corp.’s Teams use has surged to more than 280 million monthly active users. Zoom Video Communications Inc.’s business customers have nearly tripled to more than 210,000 since the start of the pandemic, and Salesforce Inc.’s Slack is also growing. In many cases, the clients of each overlap and use the tools on top of emails, texts and in-house messaging forums.
All of it is enough to make workers long for the days of complaining about email-inbox overload.
“It’s overwhelming,” says Wendy Weinberger, Ms. Donovan’s boss and head of the firm. The company’s IT department was able to successfully recall the sensitive email.
In a 2022 Harris Poll survey of more than 1,200 workers and executives, bosses estimated that their teams lost an average 7.47 hours—nearly an entire day—to poor communications a week. Based on an average salary of $66,967, the lost time translates to a cost of $12,506 per employee a year, according to the report conducted on behalf of Grammarly, a proofreading software company.
A new study from executive-search firm Korn Ferry found that communication misfires have helped to make some work relationships less pleasant and collegial. Among 357 professionals surveyed in recent weeks, nearly half said that remote work made it easier for colleagues to get away with rude behaviour such as interrupting on calls and not returning emails.
Remote work has accentuated colleagues’ different communication habits, and their potential to clash, some employees say.
“These tools that are meant to make communication easier have a dark side,” says Michele Simon, a Los Angeles-based lawyer specialising in workplace trauma. A new Pepperdine University study on workplace toxicity that surveyed 800 office workers found that 35% cited communication problems as the top barrier to getting ahead in today’s workplace—ahead of office politics (29%), small budgets (26%) or ineffective plans (20%).
Michelle Sooknanan says that at her previous job as a sales manager for a Florida food manufacturer, her boss would often call her impromptu via video as she worked from her home office in Portsmouth, N.H.
She says she found the unscheduled calls to her desktop computer stressful and asked that, outside of scheduled calls with the team, she be contacted only by email or instant message. Her manager emailed a couple of days later that her request couldn’t be accommodated, and that video would sometimes be necessary.
Ms. Sooknanan says the tension contributed to her eventual departure. The company didn’t respond to requests for comment.
Multiple modes of communication get more complex as the number of people on a conversation thread grows, says Jessica Carlson, a former director of supply-chain operations at Nestlé SA who left the company in March. Wrestling with post-Covid supply-chain challenges often took place over multiple time zones and forums.
“You could have an email chain, a text thread, a videoconference call and an in-person one-on-one about the same topic all within 24 hours,” says Ms. Carlson, who has since founded consulting firm headStrat Solutions.
Many companies have largely left it to teams and co-workers to sort out how they communicate, which can add to the confusion. For workers feeling overwhelmed, making a clear choice ahead of time can help, says Sally Susman, chief corporate affairs officer at Pfizer Inc. and author of a recent book on improving workplace communications.
She suggests asking teammates or other colleagues what their communication preferences are, while also being unafraid to state your own.
In the absence of in-person social cues, she adds, the voice becomes more important. Use it to transmit collegiality and other positive qualities that would ordinarily be picked up in person. Even in email or text messages, small touches like “Hi there” can exude warmth in formats that ordinarily feel cold and transactional.
Some companies are trying to come up with new ways for workers to get messages across. Archer Daniels Midland Co. has corralled its modes of communication by linking instant messaging, email, video and social-media style updates into one central hub.
It’s “air-traffic control,” says Brett Lutz, vice president of global communications at Archer Daniels Midland. He says the forum, powered by workplace communications software company Firstup, lets workers see stories, images and other updates.
Shopify Inc., the e-commerce and retail technology company, recently instructed staff to shift to Meta Platforms Inc.’s Workplace, which combines instant messaging, videoconferencing and other communications tools.
“Email hasn’t evolved in the last 30 years. And it still sucks,” Shopify Chief Operating Officer Kaz Nejatian wrote in a January memo to staff.
To get there, though, employees would have to check their email for an invitation to join. “Didn’t get that email? Check Okta or ping #help-chaos,” he continued, referring to two more ways employees could inquire about an invite.
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Randy Boyagoda’s new novel, “Lords of Serendipity,” delivers a biting satire of cheating, politics and dysfunction across modern universities.
5 min
Administrative cowardice. Rampant cheating. The soaking and scamming of undergrads and grad students. Performative wokeism. Intensifying competition for international tuition dollars from an expansive China.
These are either the latest dire headlines about American higher ed or the myriad subplots of “Lords of Serendipity,” an ambitious new novel by Randy Boyagoda. Unlike most campus fiction, its scope extends well beyond the cloister of the liberal arts classroom to whammy the entire university system, from its financial model to its function within a globalized economy. Along the way, it skewers its lightning-rod targets with a precision too sharp to be considered entirely fictional.
That its author is not only well-versed in satire, having written four other novels in the genre, but is also a professor of English at the University of Toronto and an experienced college administrator, further blurs the lines between comic fiction and brutal fact. It’s the kind of no-holds-barred book only a consummate insider would know to write—but only one who is also conveniently outside the American university system could get away with writing.
“This is someone who’s got the inside dope on what can go on at universities, especially with international students, and what kind of con games are going on,” said Margaret Atwood, a friend and fellow Torontonian.
The novel, like Boyagoda himself, is often very funny—even as the dilemmas its characters face read as tragedy. Its cast includes the bickering members of a Sri Lankan hotel cleaner’s family, insecure American freshmen, dead-end third-tier college professors and their highflying Ivy League counterparts and dispirited university functionaries. An old-fashioned Dickensian tale, it sweeps across continents and campuses, from a classic liberal-arts college to a stand-in for Harvard University to an urban technical school to the dilapidated buildings of a state-run university in Sri Lanka.
“I’m a joyful person,” Boyagoda said in an interview, though he prefers to see his outlook on academia as “hopeful” rather than optimistic. He smiles and laughs frequently. He bikes everywhere. He derives energy from his students and from his four daughters, ages 14 to 20. They help him and his American wife, Anna, also an educator, care for Boyagoda’s father, an immigrant from Sri Lanka who has dementia and lives with the family.
The germ of the novel came to Boyagoda during the pandemic, when he was serving as a vice-dean. An urban legend was circulating about a statistics grad student selling passing grades to international students. The cheating scheme itself may well have been apocryphal, but it felt tantalizingly plausible.
“As a novelist, it stayed with me,” Boyagoda said. “Who would sell grades for a stats course? Why would someone buy grades? What’s motivating them? Why wouldn’t the university be doing something about it?” What he didn’t want to do, he explained, was write “another novel about a creative writing professor and his drama with students.”
In addition to writing novels—the first of which was a finalist for Canada’s prestigious Giller Prize; he’s written eight books in total—Boyagoda teaches literature full-time. For his students next semester, kids raised in a purportedly “post-literature era,” he’s assigning three 700-page novels, he noted mischievously, books by George Eliot, Ralph Ellison and Kiran Desai.
On RateMyProfessors, students remark on Boyagoda’s heavy assignments, tough grading and distaste for cellphones, but also hail his “comedy.” When alerted to these reviews, Boyagoda laughed. “Guilty as charged,” he said.
“Randy’s one of those people in academia who is very well educated but doesn’t have an ounce of superiority about him,” said John Irving, who frequently guest lectures in Boyagoda’s classroom. “It’s amazing to see how willing students are to talk in his classrooms, how little afraid they feel of being mocked or put down—he gets complete candor out of them.”
Negotiating competing interests seems to come naturally to him. Like many college campuses, after the Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel, the University of Toronto was embroiled in protests, encampments and discord; part of the school’s response was to convene a working group on civil discourse. Boyagoda was put in charge, serving for two years. It’s the kind of thankless task many professors would flee from, but Boyagoda relished the prospect and thinks the group, which is ongoing, made progress.
He has since pivoted to another formidable academic concern: the waning prestige of the humanities. In July, Boyagoda became the director of the Jackman Humanities Institute and special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science. This fall, he is starting a series of gatherings he calls the Dead Book Club. (Dead writers feature heavily among his favorites: St. Augustine, Dante, William Faulkner, Evelyn Waugh, Saul Bellow.)
“The goal is to encourage students to read for its own sake and have conversation for its own sake,” Boyagoda said. “The importance of the humanities will be revealed to those who participate.”
“Lords of Serendipity,” which publishes next week, reflects Boyagoda’s commitment to the pursuit of knowledge: “I’m supposed to say I learn more from my students than they do from me, but no,” Boyagoda said. “I enjoy sharing my excitement and joy about literature and ideas. There are these moments when you are teaching and you can see someone’s face change because they didn’t know something and then they did. That moment when you’re actually watch someone enlarge themselves is deeply satisfying.”
In literary circles, Boyagoda is often referred to as a Catholic novelist, a description he embraces. “A novelist willing to give shape and voice to contemporary religious experience is needed,” Boyagoda said. “I understand myself as a Catholic novelist, provided that I’m not only a Catholic novelist, I’m also a South Asian novelist and I’m a Canadian novelist. I don’t want to be captive to one label.”
His characters, he said, are subjected to what he calls “Graham Greene character situations.”
“They are trying to do good in a fallen world and realize the most they can do is less harm than someone else would do in that same role,” he explained. “They have to accept they are complicit in something that provides some good thing to others. It’s a very Graham Greene way of thinking about sacrifice.”
The campus green they inhabit is a febrile zone in which lofty ideals and cynicism regularly collide. It’s a place where a traditional holiday college celebration is now an occasion for political protest. Kids freely police one another inside and out of the classroom with social media their constant, ready weapon of choice. International students, knowing their family’s financial futures hinge on their degrees, operate in terror of failure and deportation.
Early readers of the book include Gary Shteyngart and Junot Diaz, both of whom have taught at universities and written comic novels. They each contacted Boyagoda midway through to say, in essence, “You nailed it.”
As biting as “Lords of Serendipity” can be, Boyagoda’s faith in higher education remains undaunted.
“It’s absurd that we live in societies that make the decision to take people between the ages of 18 and 22, when they are most physically capable of contributing to our nations and communities, and tell them, ‘Go away for four years, and read and learn and have conversations,’” he said. “I want students to be aware of what an incredible privilege that is.”
Corrections & Amplifications
Randy Boyagoda is a special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science at the University of Toronto. An earlier version of this article incorrectly said he is a special adviser to the dean of humanities. (Corrected on Sept. 2)
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