There’s something that’s been on my mind for some time, and I’m sure I’m not alone. How do people in a busy, workaholic city like Washington, where multi-tasking is a way of life, stay connected while at the same time trying to maintain some semblance of dignity and privacy when enclosed in a usually-crowded, very public space? Cell phones and transit—do they mix?

Everyone’s had that experience where as soon as the train comes out of the tunnel, 50 cell phones flip open and conversations start. Mostly it’s something like, “Bob, can you pick me up—I should be at Silver Spring in 15 minutes,” but occasionally you get a talker. You know the ones—willing to discuss their recent gynecological exam or bitter divorce proceedings in full volume in a train full of strangers.

What made me finally decide to write about this epidemic is a scenario that has been repeating itself at least 3 mornings a week for the last 6 months. On my bus to work, there is a woman (for the sake of anonymity and to protect the annoying, we’ll call her “Cell Phone Girl”) who sits near me (it’s a small bus, so no matter where I sit, pretty much all of the seats are near me) and talks incessantly on her cell phone (hence her name). Perhaps she has surgically had her arm permanently bent, hand attached to cell phone, cell phone attached to ear, as a part of the latest NIH study, and I’m not aware of it.

Cell Phone Girl doesn’t just have the, “Hey Marge, I’m running late for work this morning” or “Do you want me to stop at Krispy Kreme on the way in and pick up doughnuts?” kinds of calls. Usually she talks (and not quietly, mind you) about her exploits the night before – “Oh my god, I think I’m becoming an alcoholic, I am so hung over” – or her unsuccessful hunt for the perfect condo – “Like, Da-ad, I mean, the realtor actually expects me to live in a studio” – and other various inane, personal conversations.

I know her family and friends by name (although we’ve never met), I know whom she’s dated and dumped, I even know her salary and condo budget as well as the name of her realtor strictly from these morning chats—and I’ve never even spoken to her myself. These kinds of conversations bring new meaning to the phrase “reach out and touch someone,” and not in a very nice way (picture a backhand to the skull in this particular instance). Which brings me to my point: are we making enemies of strangers without even knowing it, simply by virtue of our cell phone conversations?

I took the mental debate I was having with myself to dinner that night with the girls to survey their opinions and see if perhaps I was right on the money or if I just really needed a vacation. I knew it was an issue we wouldn’t resolve that night, and possibly ever, but I figured at the very least it’d be an interesting conversation. Alison was vehemently against cell phones on transit, citing numerous incidents where she learned more than she ever cared to about her fellow commuters. Erika was a little more forgiving, saying that sometimes it happens that you need to talk for a few minutes, but definitely not about your cousin’s gastrointestinal distress.

Enter Stacey, who was coming into the conversation a little late because she was, ironically enough, talking on her cell phone in the lobby of the restaurant (at least it wasn’t at the table—but that’s another debate for another time). She declared that she’s often too busy at work or too tired at night to catch up with people, so she almost always uses her commute time to chat up her friends and family. Which left me thinking, how many times have Stacey and I had (seemingly) private conversations, when in actuality she was sitting on the train, surrounded by strangers?

We batted the subject around for a little while longer before moving on to lighter subjects. We all resolved we’d take a week to be more observant and find out what we could learn about our fellow travelers.

By the end of the week, I had learned about Cell Phone Girl’s sister (she’s studying to be a doctor but doesn’t like med school), new realtor (she fired the other one over the whole studio issue), and trip to Paris (could it be that I was going to get ten days vacation from her?!). I had also learned that another woman who rides with me had a sick child in the hospital. One man really wanted to have kids, but his current girlfriend is resistant to marriage. And on and on. The other girls had similar experiences, really learning the deepest, darkest secrets in Washington. Who needs the CIA when you can just listen in on phone conversations?

In the end, we realized that nothing was going to change any time soon, but Stacey had informed us that she was going to try change her ways. She didn’t need the strangers on the train to know about her parents’ beach house in Boca or where we planned to meet for happy hour later. I know I had scared myself enough to keep my calls to the, “I’ll pick up KFC on the way home,” variety and the next time I decide to reach out and touch someone, I’ll be more aware that someone may want to reach out and smack me if I do.