A Protocol Puzzle

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Picture the scene: you are a guest at a cocktail reception in a foreign city where you know nobody. Everyone is speaking Tuareg or Tagalog or some local patois which seems to comprise only the last four letters of your alphabet. You have options.
Do you:
a. Bond with several glasses of Chardonnay while waiting for people to take pity on you and introduce themselves?
b. Brazenly insert yourself into a cluster of people, with a personal introduction? (Aware that they may not speak English, but if they do, from now on they must.)
c. Sneak away to a corner and pretend to be busy on your BlackBerry?
d. Return to your hotel and order room service?

No, this is not a question from the CMP exam (perhaps it should be), but it is one of those protocolic challenges, the sort of ho-hum dilemma about which the etiquette manuals remain silent. However, as any globe-trotting guest speaker will tell you, the scenario is not uncommon.

As a peripatetic presenter, no one would describe me as a shrinking violet, but even I find myself reluctant to compel a bunch of strangers to speak my language at their party. It seems arrogant and presumptuous. Sadly, the alternative is solitude.

But surely (I hear you asking) as a guest speaker, you are played host to from dawn to disco? Well, yes and no. You would be surprised how often the speaker (as a sort of supernumerary) gets overlooked in the planning.

I no longer take it personally when the promised car is not awaiting me at the airport, or I’m not assigned a seat at dinner; so feeling unwelcome at a welcome reception is small potatoes. But I digress.

Actually, choosing a table at dinner can be even more socially stressful than the aforementioned cocktail reception. In a foreign country, I am conscious that I’m about to sentence those seated next to me to two hours of English (four hours in Italy), since they cannot move away without appearing rude.

No wonder that I favour the concept of the “presenter mentor” whereby the host organisation appoints someone to nanny me for the duration of my visit—or at least those occasions when I will be potentially alone and friendless.

In the best of cases, such a person acts as guide, adviser, interpreter and social facilitator and becomes a friend. He or she will, I hope, introduce me to lots of (English-speaking) people, thus expanding my network and, at the same time, escaping the exclusive responsibility for my welfare. I am quite happy to be passed, like a football, from host to host.

Yet, I have lost count of the times that this simple courtesy is overlooked—even in MPI circles. (I intend to shame the guilty in my forthcoming memoirs.)

Of course, there are many reasons, other than administrative oversight, why speakers might be neglected at functions. In certain cultures, the respect afforded to teachers and “the silver generation” can inhibit familiarity. Sometimes people are not confident of their conversational skills in English, and there are always those who lack the chutzpah to approach strangers of any complexion. I empathise.

Maybe you can think of other reasons why I sometimes find myself alone at social functions—if so, please keep them to yourself.

TONY CAREY, CMP, CMM, is a freelance speaker and consultant. He can be reached at tonycarey@psilink.co.je or via his Web site, www.tonycarey.info.

Published
15/02/2008