Public Broadcasting: Cell Phones and the Accidental Eavesdropper

The woman was shouting into her cell phone. “We’re just going to have to make a temporary peace pact, goddamnit! You asked me to mail the documents but I’m on your side of town right now. Why can’t I drop off the lousy envelope? Okay, if not today, then when?”

I wasn’t eavesdropping. Eavesdropping implies active curiosity on the part of the listener. I wasn’t curious. I simply couldn’t get away from the conversation. Besides, I was afraid if I put my fingers in my ears, I’d hurt her feelings.

But wait a minute. She didn’t care about my feelings. She didn’t care about the guy behind her -- and in front of me -- in the Express Check-Out (10 Items or Less) line at Shop or Drop. And she obviously didn’t give a hoot about the cashier who was waiting for the phone call to end so she could take her cash.

Right now, the woman was using the wad of bills in her hand like a gavel, tapping them on the counter for emphasis.

I put my fingers in my ears and hummed. The first thing that came to mind was, “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.”

She ended the conversation with “You’re full of crap. Goodbye!” and glared at the cashier. “How much do I owe you?”

Having paid for her Brie, water crackers and Chardonnay, she turned to me: “And what in the hell is that tune you’re humming? ‘She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain’? Are you trying to tell me something?”

I took my fingers out of my ears. “Nope. Just humming. Um, my mother used to sing that song to me when I was a kid and scared at night.”

“Well, you’re not scared NOW, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m fine. Thanks.”

This episode (imagined, I have to admit) points out the invasion of someone else's -- as well as our own -- privacy that is foisted upon us by public cell phone conversations. In other words, in the presence of a conversation that is NOT meant for our ears, we find our interior lives violated by the intrusion of a stranger’s problems. We’re reigned in to participate, as unwilling players, in dramas that have nothing to do with us.

I’m going to cite a few examples from real life. For some reason, these incidents usually occur in stores. Maybe because stores (at least in America) are the venue of choice for social interaction.

I was shopping one afternoon and heard someone carrying on over her cell phone: “I know we’re not talking to one another but I only want to leave it on your stoop. You don’t have to come to the door.” She, too, was yelling.

I wondered what she was referring to. A baby? A gift? And, if a gift (I was pretty sure it wasn’t a baby), why would she be leaving a token of her appreciation with someone she obviously couldn’t stand?

It was baffling. While there seems to be no code (tacit or otherwise) of decorum on the subject of cell phone conversations, I really didn’t feel comfortable asking her what she was talking about. “Excuse me, why AREN’T you talking to one another? What do you plan to leave on the doorstep? Is there anything I can do to help?”
Any probe into this woman’s private life was obviously taboo. But why was I allowed to glimpse the tip of the iceberg? And that’s another thing about these public dialogues. We’re privy to all sorts of personal details but follow-through is verboten.

On another afternoon, I heard the man behind me punch out a number on his keypad as I stood in line at the Rugged Warehouse. “Hi. Well, Arlene’s doing okay, given the circumstances. Yeah, she thought she was going to be a grandmother. But the tests showed that the kid isn’t Darren’s. Yup. She’s pretty upset about that.”
Did I need to know this? Did the guy behind me really have to share that information with the people standing in line?

For a moment, I paused, trying to think if I knew anyone named Darren. Uh-uh. But what if Darren were a co-worker or a friend?

Does that matter? Somewhere a guy named Darren is in love and having sex with a woman who is now pregnant but who, as it turns out, has been cheating on him. And what about Darren’s mother who had been looking forward to a grandchild? I wondered if she’d already bought a bassinet and baby booties and several months worth of diapers. Would she give them to Darren’s girlfriend, anyway? Probably not. All the baby paraphernalia would, most likely, end up in a closet until Darren met someone else, fell in love and, hopefully, became the father of her child.

Down the street, in the park where I like to walk, conversations take on a different tone. People using their cell phones are calmer. Their conversations are friendlier. And quieter. Maybe it has something to do with nature. Trees. Fresh air. In the park, I find myself responding to people on their cells because, particularly when they’re wearing that plug in their ears, I assume that they’re talking to me. I never learn.

“Excuse me?” I’ll say. “I didn’t catch that.” Or, “Hi! How are YOU?”

More often than not, I’m waved away with a cursory gesture and the person turns his or her back on me to continue the discussion. In private, I suppose.

It’s a funny world. My next-door neighbor doesn’t talk to me, even when I greet him with a “Good morning!” I don’t know much about the family across the street. And yet, these days, I’m learning plenty about people I’ll never come across again in life.