Likely Normal

There is a new modern symphony of public spaces. In addition to the chirping birds and hissing coffee machines, is that one person loudly explaining their entire medical history to their phone like they’re starring in a one-man podcast. Mobile phones revolutionized communication, sure, but they also gave birth to a new species: Homo oblivious loudspeakerus, creatures who believe every location—libraries, trains, funerals—is the perfect stage for their dramatic retelling of “Why My Ex Is The Worst.” And don’t think that you’re off the hook, just because you speak another language. The United States isn’t as monolingual as you think, so that private conversation you think you’re having is broadcast to everyone else, and, frankly, we don’t like it.

There’s something magical about how a phone turns “indoor voice” into “I’m auditioning for Broadway” volume. Maybe it’s the detachment—when you’re yelling at a tiny screen, you forget that actual humans nearby are now unwilling participants in your “Should I Text Him Back?” TED Talk. And let’s not forget the content: from graphic grocery lists (“and then the doctor said the rash”) to workplace gossip so juicy it should at least come with a disclaimer (“Names changed to protect the guilty… but not my volume control!”).

The struggle? Realizing that yes, your right to chat does end where everyone else’s eardrums begin. Pro tip: If your conversation includes the phrase “You won’t believe what happened last night…” and you’re on a silent train, maybe save it for literally any other time. Or at least whisper—though we know that’s as likely as your phone battery lasting a full day.