Sydney recently hosted the Australian version of the world’s biggest IT exhibition – CeBIT. (That’s short for Centrum der Büro- und Informationstechnik.)
I went along to run a little ruse. I adopted the guise of a partner from a large law firm, looking for technology to help make my firm more efficient. Something to help the firm reduce costs. Something, I said, to help make a few people redundant.
I arrived, in a sharp suit and stern tie, scanned my ticket, hung it around my neck, and entered the hall. Exhibitors stood, clutching pamphlets, willing me with their smiles to peruse pretty cables, and aerials and strange plastic boxes.
I weaved in between stalls until I spotted the first thing that could have a place in a law firm – digital tablets. The exhibitor was helping a guy to sketch a large and elaborate fish. I think he had been there for an awfully long time.
“Can you use this thing for writing notes?” I asked the exhibitor. “Or is it only for fish?”
“Our tablets come with excellent handwriting recognition software,” she said. “But it’s not installed on these units.”
“Oh, that’s a pity – I’d be keen to give it a try,” I said. “We still dictate notes in our firm. It’d be good to change that. And sack a few typists!”
Nervous laughter. No taking of bait.
“We do have this new mouse,” she said. “You can also use this to keep notes.”
She took out a mouse with a flat platform on top. She produced a stylus. And she wrote her name on the flat bit of the
mouse. L.U.C.Y. One. Letter. At. A. Time.
“One letter at a time? That must be about 15 words per minute. Even our typing pool can do better than that.”
I took a flyer for the ‘award-winning’ mouse and moved along.
A smart salesman sprang up in my path. “And what brings you here today, sir?”
“I’m a partner from a large law firm,” I said, shaking his hand. “The partner for cutting dead wood. Got anything to help with the task?”
“Well, people are our business, but we train them.”
“Train them … what in? What for?”
“We’re training staff at one firm to work with locked template documents.”
“Oh, so you keep all the staff, but you eliminate their choices. That’s something, I guess.”
I made all the right murmurs. And, at just the right moment, the guy asked for my card.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t bring any with me.” How convenient, I thought.
“No problem,” he said. “That’s why we have this scanner.” And he beeped something on the CeBIT ticket that hung
around my neck.
Busted! All my details had been prerecorded and bar-coded. In one quick beep, my ‘big city law firm’ had been reduced to a practice of one.
“Most efficient,” I said, leaving the salesman inspecting his scanner.
At my next stop, a woman promised me ‘unsurpassed document control’. “We help you to tag every document for a digital file.”
“Tag every document?”
“Yes, for each document, you fill in a form and then you place both into an e-file.”
“A form for every document? That doubles the paperwork!”
“But you’ll always be able to find everything that you need.”
“I’m trying to get rid of the finders. Not improve the finding!”
All this new technology seemed to demand more, not less, personnel.
Feeling disillusioned, I made for the exit. Then I spotted something sobering. Something frightening. I rushed over.
“What is this software?”
“Discovery software! It can search digital records at unimaginable speed!”
“Can it bill by the hour?”
“Sorry?”
I explained my position and cost-cutting mission.
“A lawyer? You lawyers never want to invest in hardware, or software, or training.”
He was right. What was I doing at CeBIT? I removed my ticket from my neck and, feeling relieved, returned to my office to get back to my core legal business. I drafted a document. Misspelt it. Misplaced it. And looked around for someone to blame.