Courtesy callback

In olden times, of course, when the phone rang, it really rang. It wasn’t just a 20-second snippet of some Taylor Swift song. And the phone was a shared object — it could be for anyone, so when someone answered it, there was this delicious sense of mystery: Who’s calling? Who’s it for? Answering the phone was like being the star of a very short suspense movie.

There are only two reasons anyone calls anyone else, and it really doesn’t make a difference whether the call is business or personal: People call because they want to give you money or because they want you to give them money.

You can probably figure out which phone calls are more plentiful.

When I was beginning my career as a television writer, no one ever called me. When you’re just starting out, you really aren’t in any position to do anyone any favors at all.

I remember coming back to the office in the early days of my career and checking the little plastic telephone message slip carousel — if you’re over 40, you know what this is — and my little compartment was empty.

At some point in my career, though, people did start calling me — mostly agents, looking for work for their clients.

And it’s then that you need to come up with a telephone call returning policy. Because most of the time, the answer to the question Can I please have some money? is No, you cannot. I have no jobs to offer, no money to pay your client, and no immediate prospect of having any of those things.

But you still need to return the call — or, these days, the email. Not returning business calls, even when you know they’re from people who want something you don’t have, is a bad career move. It’s like wearing sweatpants outside of the house. It announces to everyone that you’ve just given up.

And also: Agents are important parts of the media ecosystem. They are the necessary grease in the machine, what gastroenterologists might call “friendly bacteria” in the lower intestine of the dirty business we call entertainment. They keep things running, they make it easier to put productions and staffs and enterprises together, and in exchange, they take a little bite out of whatever is passing through the pipes. A healthy organism needs these kinds of parasites to stay alive.

So a few years ago, I made a little pact with myself: I vowed to return every phone call. Every one. Even ones from agents. And especially ones that I knew I needed to say I have nothing for you.

Because you never know. While it’s true that the vast preponderance of business calls I get are of the Please give me money variety, things can change pretty fast. An agent who calls a lot to push his clients can, after a few job hops and a big media merger, suddenly find himself behind a big desk at a major studio or streaming service, making the kinds of hiring and greenlight decisions that end up with writers like me buying summer homes on Nantucket. So, yes, I return every call and every email.

This is an easy vow to live up to most of the time — my phone rings intermittently these days, mostly informing me that the factory warranty on my car has run out.

Still, my policy is to return every call. I am an optimist. When I see a field of grass, I know there’s a four-leaf clover in there, somewhere. And one of these days, I know in my bones that someone, probably someone who used to call me to ask me for money, is going to call me to offer me money. I do not want to miss that call.

Rob Long is a television writer and producer and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.