Pet Peeves, Part 1: The Speakerphone Plague

I need to talk about something. Something that has been slowly eroding my faith in humanity, one airport terminal at a time.

We have collectively given up on the concept of private information.

I was at the airport recently — which is already the seventh circle of hell — and I’m sitting next to a guy who is having a full-blown medical consultation on speakerphone. Right there in Terminal B. Not whispering. Not cupping the phone. Full volume, broadcasting to every soul within a 50-foot radius.

I now know everything about this man. I know his blood pressure. I know his cholesterol levels. And I know more about his “persistent lower-back rash” than I know about some of my own family members.

The Posture

The thing that kills me isn’t just that he’s doing it — it’s the posture. You know the one. They hold the phone horizontally in front of their mouth like they’re about to eat a digital taco.

Why do people do this?

The microphone is at the bottom of the phone. The speaker is at the top. We spent a hundred years perfecting the ergonomics of the telephone so it fits the human face, and this guy is out here holding it like he’s offering a burnt sacrifice to the God of Bad Audio.

Meanwhile, the person on the other end is screaming back from that tiny speaker, sounding like a robot with a head cold: “DID YOU USE THE CREAM, GARY?”

Now I’m involved. I have to be. You’ve made me a secondary character in your life, Gary. I wanted to lean over and say, “Gary, she’s right. You gotta use the cream, man. The TSA agent is looking at your lower back with genuine concern. We’re all in this together now.”

The Thought Process (Or Lack Thereof)

What goes through someone’s mind? “I have a phone. It is a miracle of engineering. It allows me to transmit my voice across the globe via invisible waves. But you know what would make it better? If everyone in this Starbucks learned that my divorce is ‘getting messy.’”

I genuinely cannot figure out the logic. Is it a power move? Is it laziness? Do they think the rest of us are NPCs who can’t hear them? I have questions and zero answers.

The Bathroom. The BATHROOM.

If you use speakerphone in a public bathroom, you should be legally required to hand over your device to the state. That’s it. Game over. You’re done.

I’m in the stall trying to have a private moment, and from two stalls over I hear: “NO, THE Q3 PROJECTIONS ARE DOWN, DAVE.”

Dave, I’m mid-flush. You’re basically inviting Dave into the stall with us. Dave doesn’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. Even the toilet is uncomfortable.

Main Character Syndrome

That’s what it really is, isn’t it? Main character syndrome. These people think their life is a movie and the rest of us are unpaid extras. They’re the star of a one-person show that nobody bought tickets to, and the plot is always either a medical issue, a messy breakup, or quarterly projections.

My Proposed Solution

Next time you encounter a Speakerphone Warrior in the wild, don’t get mad. Just join the conversation. Start giving advice.

“Oh, hey — Gary’s lying about the cream. I watched him throw it in the trash near the Cinnabon. Also, Gary, can you turn it up? I want the people in the back to hear about your credit score.”

They’ll stop. Or they’ll look at you like you’re insane. Either way, the silence will be beautiful.

Am I alone in this? Please tell me I’m not alone in this. Sound off in the comments — I know you have stories.