I had the pleasure of sitting in front of one of those people on my way home this evening; those people who make you wish you could launch razor thin tranquilizer darts into their voice box from the back of your head silently and surreptitiously.
The irony of my unwanted interaction with the offending passenger reads like poetry. I was on my way home from a forum on the importance of public space. Up for discussion was who can do what where; who pays to maintain the where; who determines the what; and the fundamental difference between the private and public realm. And up in the private space of my thoughts all I could hear was her - the bane of my streetcar ride home.
People have written about public cell phone use etiquette ad nauseam. Why do I have enough rant worthy material for a blog post?!
Voice level, subject matter, language – they all matter when your audience is stuck with you in a confined public space.
I don't care that you're soooooo tired, especially when I'm soooooo tired (and sick!) and just trying to unwind in spite of your presence. Manners maketh the wo(man).
Maybe if “the old lady” in your building did call the police to bust you for smoking pot, we would never have met.
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