What is it that's so frustrating about listening to only one side of a conversation?
I can sit - sometimes even complacently - between two people having a conversation on the bus. In this situation I'm at least privy to what's going on, have a sense of wholeness, can chime in when relevant and even glean some insight into a stranger's mind.
It's listening to half of a phone conversation on the bus that nearly kills me. The peeve finally hit its pinnacle when I had to listen to a girl try to describe the Oaks Mall extremely loudly to her ostensibly deaf friend:
"The mall. The place with stores. On University. (Actually, it's on Newberry). Where people like to go shopping. mall. mall. mall. mall."
After listening to what was basically a game of Taboo devoid of any enjoyment, I was then subjected to listening to a conversation about going to the Swamp (she was so excited that she said "cool beans") and an entire narration of the bus ride's events (minus me blatantly mouthing "hang up").
The thing is, 90 percent of all phone conversations I overhear are this uninteresting and pathetic.
Why do people feel the need to talk on the phone about innate shit? Try an iPod or a book - something edifying. There's no situation that requires you to call someone on a bus apart from being a character in "Jeepers Creepers 2" or "Speed."
Text messaging is another alternative. With a quick staccato of your index fingers and thumbs you can avoid screaming in my ears and making an ass out of yourself at the same time.
I understand that we were raised when self-esteem psychology was popular among parents and educators, but do you need to stay affirmed so badly that you're willing to permanently attach a phone to your ear?
When I was seven, there was a Goosebumps book I liked in which one of the "choose your own endings" lands you R.L. Stine's version of Hell -- watching George Washington cross the Potomac for eternity. It was probably my favorite Goosebumps book, but I had a hard time buying that anyone could consider sitting and observing more torturous than fire and brimstone.
I've since realized that spending 40 minutes listening to you describe what you're wearing to your next sorority function is an entirely plausible candidate for my conception of ultimate suffering. So please, have some mercy and hang up the phone.
Allie Conti is an English and journalism sophomore. Her column appears weekly.
