Phone Etiquette

There is an unspoken public phone etiquette. That’s what Ben always believed. While he didn’t like technology much, there were various things he considered just fine for a person to use their phone for when in public. He considered silent scrolling annoying, but just fine when quiet. Anything that resulted in a person keeping to themselves was good; about the only thing that Ben used his phone for was reading, and public reading of any kind got Ben’s approval, even if it was done on a phone—this could be books, emails, messages. It didn’t matter to Ben.

The use of these handheld devices that didn’t follow the etiquette was a much, much longer list in Ben’s eyes. There was a time and place for such things, and anything else on a phone could be done at home. He hated when he would ask for help locating an item in a supermarket and the employee would pull out a phone. He resigned himself to finding his own way around the store, and it irritated him that he knew the layout better than those who worked there. Any pictures taken in public were quickly met with his accusations, demanding to see if he was the subject of one of these photos. When out of work, lounging at a local bar he would have to continuously remind his coworkers that they were surrounded by friends, and didn’t need the device so close.

What Ben could not stand most about phone usage in public, however, was calling. Any sort of verbal conversation he saw someone having with a cellphone made his head hot and his hands clench. He didn’t say anything about it most of the time, after all it didn’t concern his privacy and he usually wasn’t engaging with someone who was on call. This frustration had been centered on calls with video however as he started seeing this new woman on the subway.

Ben’s job was located in The Bronx, but he stayed in Brooklyn taking care of his grandparents. While the distance wasn’t impossible, Ben swore off New York traffic after one too many accidents and visits to court that lasted far too long than they needed to. The subway is something he’s used since he was a child, and found that it suited him far better than a taxi. Now, he used the subway every day, usually getting on somewhere around six in the afternoon. Fridays were an exception. Since Ben didn’t have to work weekends, he’d go out with a few work buddies and they’d unwind at a nearby bar. He wasn’t too fond of drinking much—it seemed to make him more tired than buzzed—but it was tradition and he didn’t want to skip out on it. One Friday night he couldn’t help but notice a woman on the subway his age, sat on one of the benches against the wall.

There was nothing about this person that struck Ben particularly. She was clothed in a simple t-shirt, baggy pants, hair cut into a bob, a set of headphones on top, and eyes down. That’s what drew him, he realized; she was staring at a phone in her hands. At first he thought she was listening to music, which seemed harmless enough as long as she kept it to herself. That wasn’t the problem. When Ben moved around, taking a bench just behind her, he caught a glimpse of someone on the phone. It was the only thing Ben could think of for a week, how his annoyance of calls had been so easily evolved to that of video calls. Of course Ben knew they existed, he’d heard about it and even seen it going past cafés and outside eateries, but he’d never seen this display in such a public area.

The next week, she was the first thing Ben saw. Before stepping through the subway doors, Ben caught sight of short black hair with a pair of headphones on top. That started to be a regular site on Friday nights. The woman took the same subway, same time, just as he did. He never saw her get on or leave, in his mind she only existed on that bench. She was there every time; different outfits, same floral pattern headphones and her eyes to her phone. He noticed that she would never speak to the person on the other side, only wave at the screen and do things like tapping her finger to her chin or similar actions. He didn’t spend his whole ride staring at her, he made a conscious effort not to but it was difficult when seeing one of her hands move to the isles.

He thought that the public disturbance was what fueled this innate distain for phone calls, but seeing her sat there every Friday shattered his belief. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was concerned how seeing her glued to her phone every moment she was on the subway was getting to him like that. He tried to find ways to talk to her about the video calls, but he couldn’t justify it in his head before he had to step out of the subway.

“I’ve never understood why you care so much about the phones,” Andy spoke over the noise of the bar, shoving a handful of peanuts in his mouth and not bothering to swallow before he continued. “I mean, you’ve been talking about this lady for months now.”

“Not sure what it is Dru, but I just know it’s disrespectful,” Ben had his fingers around a cold glass. It wasn’t foamy anymore, but still filled to the brim.

“And how do you figure that?”

Paul was reaching over for the basket of nuts now, “Nah I see his point, Dru. Phones just do too much these days. I’ve been fine with my flip phone for years.”

Jonah’s hand intercepted Paul’s, slapping it to the side and pulling the basket over to him instead, “You mean the one that don’t have sound no more?”

“You know what I mean,” Paul’s expression was set to a stoney look as he watched Jonah scarf down peanuts that were supposed to be his. He looked at Ben instead, “Maybe going up to her when she’s not doing nothing isn’t the best, but you love bringing up when people are listening to stuff out loud. She’s got headphones usually, right? Just wait ’til she’s not wearing them one day. Easy.”

And that’s what Ben did. He sat behind the woman everyday for almost a year on the same subway ride home. Without fail, the first thing he noticed every time he stepped on the bus was the pink flowery headphones sat on her head every week. Ben started to glance less, his mind no longer focused on her throughout the day. He was convinced there wouldn’t be a week where she would come without headphones, until he stepped into the subway one evening to see a head of black hair looking bare without its usual accessory.

“Hey,” Ben could only focus on her again, as if it was the first day he saw her. She didn’t look up as he approached, and spoke up louder, “Hey.”

The woman’s head only lifted when he stepped to her side. He’d never seen her face, not really. She was pale, dark eyes to match her hair and a face full of glitter. It had to be some kind of makeup, “I got something to say to you.”

“She’s deaf.”

The voice didn’t come from her, but below her head and in her hands. He looked down, finally taking in the person on the other side of the screen. It was a little boy, maybe ten or twelve—black hair and dark eyes. It looked like he was laid out on checkered covers, his phone held above his face. His hands moved as he spoke, tapping his face and gesturing out just like the woman did.

“My momma’s deaf. You wanted say something to her? I can tell her.”

The woman watched her phone, or specifically the motions of the boy’s hands. She nodded down to the phone before her head froze for a moment, and she looked up to Ben instead to nod to him. Ben felt like he couldn’t move. He let his first thoughts slip out, and the boy translated both ways before Ben ended the conversation. He didn’t look in her direction for the rest of the evening and instead opted to stand in the subway and get out the second the doors parted for his stop.

the phone wasn’t what occupied his mind over the next week. It was what he said, what she said in response. He found sleep difficult and wasn’t sure what he was feeling. That wasn’t something he was used to and it certainly wasn’t something he liked. He could only think of one way to fix it, and that Friday he didn’t find himself at the bar. He was in a local supermarket, asking an employee where he could buy items he never shopped for and staying silent when their phone was pulled out. He winced at prices and judged appearances, but he eventually walked out satisfied enough.

When he got on the subway, he knew where to look, walking up to the woman’s bench and watching her look up, same as the last week. This time however, he stayed silent as he held out a cardboard box to her. Ben had never seen someone so fast, feeling her arms wrap around him tight. She was sat just as quickly, holding the box up to her phone.

“What—oh! Those are so sick!” Ben could hear the kid on the other side of the phone, watching the woman gesture to him before he started again, “My mom says thank you. She’s missed feeling the vibrations when we talked like this.”

“I tried to, uh—“ Ben cleared his throat. It felt tight, “I felt awful, knowing such nice folks got robbed. I tried to get the same ones—These are red though, different flowers. The ones she had were online, I’m not really great at getting stuff like that.”

“No no, these are cool!” The boy practically cut him off, and the woman was already gesturing for Ben to sit. He joined her on the bench, watching as she tried and eventually failed to open the box, resorting to tearing the cardboard. The boy on the screen narrated the whole thing as the ride was spent wirelessly connecting the headphones to her phone.

Over the next month, Ben would learn that the woman’s name was Ji-a, and her son’s was Conner. Apparently Conner was left home with a babysitter most of the day, but she would have to leave at roughly the same time Ji-a left work to catch the subway. They came up with a routine that after the babysitter would leave, Ji-a would stay on the phone with Conner until she arrived home, just to make sure nothing could transpire in the short amount of time. Ben had figured out how to ask Ji-a about her day with his hands. Ji-a learned to only respond with ‘good’, otherwise she would have to let Connor out of the headphones to translate. Ben didn’t want to bother her with all of that.

Ben didn’t make it a habit to disturb her. She was watching her kid, talking with him. Even if he didn’t get it, it wasn’t bothering him. It shouldn’t bother him. Ji-a, however, went out of her way to wave at him every time he stepped in on Friday evenings, and Ben would ask her how her day was.