Dateline Boston — I have a hard time restraining myself from eavesdropping when I’m out and about. I catch bits of conversation at the bookstore, the supermarket, even while out walking. One of the best places to eavesdrop is at Starbucks. One easily can listen to another’s conversation while playing Words with Friends on a phone. Or pretending to check Facebook. Or reading a book.
The other day I was sitting at Starbucks, and a woman came rushing over to the table next to mine. “Hi, I’m sorry, so sorry!” She was late. The women never had met each other, but they quickly became fast friends. They had the same way of talking; not a vocal fry, exactly, but they emphasized the same endings of certain words. It was like listening to one person talking to herself in the mirror.
They both had girls who were really into dance. One woman had teenagers, the other one’s kids were younger. The woman with the older kids had a medical issue. She was also getting married to a guy she met on Match.com. At this point, I felt like I knew too much. I stopped listening, right after I learned that they were about to embark on some sort of business information exchange.
Is it wrong to listen in on conversations? I didn’t live Tweet it. I didn’t act it out later and post it on YouTube. I simply jotted it down, and stopped when things got personal. I’m often aware of when people look at me in a public place. If I don’t want them to listen to me, I tone my voice down.
Back at Starbucks, I saw the teenage son of friends of mine. Although I’ve known of this boy since he was three years old, I only have met him a couple times. He wouldn’t recognize me. He was sitting with two friends at a table, talking and drinking some sort of beverage. What do teenagers drink at Starbucks? Hot chocolate?
I sent a message to his parents, telling them I was spying on him. One of them replied that his son knew Dad had spies everywhere. Whoa. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be a fly on the wall and observe my stepsons with their friends. I found out, however, that it wasn’t that fun to be the fly. It felt creepy.
I left the coffee joint with a newfound respect for boundaries and privacy. Next time I’m out on the town, I may listen for a minute, but I won’t write about it. Who knows? Maybe I will be the subject of someone else’s essay.
Ms. Vaillancourt may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
