Posted by
AudiR10TDI on Wednesday, August 30, 2006 7:41:49 PM
Sunday night at 9:00 p.m. I climbed aboard a Canada Coach bus, the VIA rail people having cancelled all the overnight trains for my convenience, after a very tough day working at the Montreal Grand Prix which was washed away by more rain than the cars could navigate.
The minute the lights went off and the bus got underway, out came the cell phones, and everybody under 30 proceeded to enlighten 52 strangers on every intimate detail of their bodily functions, all the stupid things they had done all weekend, and the hysterical soap opera that was their lives.
A young lady confided indignantly to the world, "I had to give up my deodorant on the air flight over here and I haven't put a thing in my pits since Thursday!" That's news I'm sure her seatmate was happy to receive ...
A vacuous blonde telephoned five friends who were not home and left messages "Call me, buh-bye!" before she found someone who was home. Then, in that sing-song Valley Girl patois they all seem to speak, she retailed in excruciating detail every detail of her three days in Montreal, from what she had for breakfast the first day, to several excursions indicating that she ought never to be allowed into a city of any sophistication without her nanny and a translator. (For example, she waited two hours for a free outdoor movie and was shocked to find that the movie was in French! In Montreal! Who'd have guessed?) 52 strangers now know she doesn't know the difference between a salad and an appetizer.
But the best story was the soap opera taking place behind me, with the starring characters a young Chinese brother and sister, and an unseen ex-boyfriend of the sister and friend of the brother, who was trying desperately to break up with the sister who was clinging to him like a suction hose. The poor fellow received cell phone calls from both parties, who spent the time between phone calls telling the fascinated audience that the poor guy wanted to be a Canadian and didn't want a Chinese girlfriend, and that the brother and the friend both considered her an obsessed, immature, thoroughly annoying person, while the sister cried and sniveled and begged her brother to find out where the poor guy lived so she could go and 'visit' him.
All this blabberjabber was going on in a wholly public place, where strangers were trapped together, in blissful disregard for the fact that they were revealing information to the world that the world neither needed nor wanted nor deserved to know.
I'm sure you've plenty of stories of a similar nature. There are the ladies in the grocery store blocking the aisle while they blabberjabber on their cell phones to the babysitter at home. There are the ladies in the doctor's waiting room describing the intimate details of their reproductive systems to unseen companions on the cell phone and a waiting room full of people who have their own problems. There's the man in the gate area at the airport dictating letters to his secretary, and some of them contain information we're all sure his clients didn't intend to be shared with an international audience that just might include competitors, opposing parties, other lawyers and the press.
And all of these people have the idea that we can't hear a thing they say if they even know we're there at all.
People, think about what you're doing!
When you're standing there in the elevator spilling your guts to Binkie on the phone about how drunk you got last night and how you got home without your shoes and your bra, how do you know the guy standing behind you isn't the person who's about to interview you for a job?
When you're sitting on the train filling the air and your buddy's ear with obscene references to your boss and what you'd like to do to his wife, are you sure the woman sitting across from you isn't your boss' wife's sister or the Judge you're going to appear before tomorrow?
And you there in the bathroom (yes, the BATHROOM) explaining to your mistress how you're going to see her tomorrow at the Whoop De Doo Hotel once you've kissed the wife and kids goodbye for your (har har) business trip to Charleston, how do you know that a member of the press isn't in the next booth taking it all down in shorthand?
Perhaps it's time for a campaign based on the old "Loose Lips Sink Ships" campaign. The poster could show Mister or Miss Blabberjabber blissfully filling the air with confidential information, and all around them the open ears of bosses, wives, competitors, Judges, cops and children. Put the title up that says "They Can Hear Every Word You Say." And at the bottom of the poster:
"Save it til you get home."
Please, please, please let us bring back the public place as a place we all behave politely and keep our conversations general, civil, and suitable for all ages.
Can't we all just, well, shut up?