Speaker of the House

Hard to believe speaker phones were patented in the 1940s. For over 70 years, we had struggled with the “inconvenience” of holding a device up to the side of the face so as to both hear and speak to the party at the other end of the line. Housewives could be seen stirring soup with one hand and wrangling a two-yearold with the other, all while clenching the telephone receiver between their jaw and shoulder in a contorted death grip. Then, thanks to an ingenious device that fit over the shoulder like an ox harness (invented - - no doubt -- by those seeking to make office workers even more productive) secretaries could type, validate parking and talk on the phone all at the same time -- without risking permanent neck injury.

We never had a speaker phone in our home when I was growing up. If you wanted to talk on the phone, you got up and went to where the phone was. If it was a private conversation, you stretched that coiled olive green cord to its limit, stepped just outside the kitchen door, and slammed the cord in the door. If, on the other hand, it was your aunt calling from Texas, everyone stood around the person holding the phone, and shared the conversation: “Ask her if she got those bulbs planted.” “Did you get the bulbs planted?” “She said ‘Yes.’” “Tell her to ask April how she likes her new school.” “How does April like the new school?” “Oh, okay.” “She said April isn’t there right now, and she wants to know if you’ll send her the recipe for ...” Anyway, you get the picture. The “speaker” was ... whoever was holding the phone. Speaker phones at work were, for the most part, an acceptable advance in technology. A dozen people sitting around a conference table furnished with a device that looked like a prop from Star Trek, sharing ideas and opinions with other people from across town or across the country. What a great idea. It saved on gas and travel time, after all, and allowed everyone to work on a project together, at the same time. And, best of all, you could make funny faces when that guy from Arkansas said something stupid -- and he always did. The only drawback I recall was ... it seems there was always at least one person in every office who insisted on using her speaker phone for EVERY conversation. Not only did we overhear her business calls, we knew about her date last night, her delinquent brother, and that mysterious rash. Ew.

And, now, she’s got a cell phone. No matter where she is, she answers the phone with a confident swipe, and begins her conversation. She holds the phone flat, out in front of her mouth like an oyster on the half shell. She is oblivious to her surroundings. She laughs loudly, curses, squeals, reveals and receives information of a most intimate nature, all while staring blankly at her manicure, a magazine, or passing traffic. She seems to be utterly unaware of the people around her, who are in earshot and are cringing at her every word. Never mind that they are trying to conduct a conversation of their own, which is shattered not only by her piercing voice but by the electronically-altered responses coming in over her phone like some deranged cartoon character.

So, be forewarned. The next time you make me a party to your private conversation by conducting it via speakerphone, I may very well join the conversation. I may tell you what I think of your delinquent brother, and I may tell you what to do about that rash. And, don’t dare glare at me and say, “Do you mind? This is a private conversation.” I do mind, and it’s not private. You gave up that option when you pressed “Speaker.”