Pop 89: Eavesdropping On Ourselves
By Madonna Hamel
madonnahamel@hotmail.com
Twice a month, I drive to Swift Current for supplies and to do errands. And to eavesdrop. I start with my recycling. A couple of weeks worth of cans and cartons usually gives me a few bucks to spend at my next stop, the SPCA Bookstore. I can always find something on one of the 50-cent shelves. Just yesterday, I picked up a copy of Malcolm Gladwell’s “Talking to Strangers, What We Should Know About the People We Don’t Know” for a dollar.
My next stop is Urban Ground, the local coffee shop where I splurge on a latte. This is when my ritual of eavesdropping begins. While sipping coffee and flipping through the pages of my new book, I lend an ear to the conversations around me. I also have my journal open to scribble my musings and whinings, ideas for stories, and the conversational petals from the mouths of strangers.
My trusty etymological dictionary defines “eavesdrop” as: “To lurk near a place to hear what is said inside.” The term is derived from those troughs meant to catch water streaming off rooftops. In dry country, those drops are gold and are channelled into water barrels. I consider my journal a kind of water barrel, fresh nourishment for a dry mind. But I don’t lurk, hidden under people’s windows or outside their houses. I loiter in full view, two feet from loud talkers who, like people on cell phones, either don’t care who listens or enjoy an audience.
Because I am visible, I don’t feel guilt. Although, when I took my writing students to a cafe to do some eavesdropping, some of them felt they were doing something slightly immoral. I admire their healthy consciences, but I still insisted they listen and copy to get the feel of authentic conversation. Writers listen, they pay attention, all the time; it’s their job, I say.
Over the years, I’ve overheard some scintillating conversations. Some disturbing ones as well. Like the time in a Kelowna coffee shop, a woman needed to be assured that the man beside her could “do the job without leaving a trace.” She didn’t want anyone finding out about “what happened to that bastard. He deserves everything coming to him.” Over the intrusive noise of a milk steamer, I strained to hear the reply. Just yesterday, I hit the jackpot when these words were delivered to me via a couple and their friend sitting beside me: “He became a trans after everyone grew up and left home!” “No way! Do you have any pictures?” “No. But I love what his niece said about him: He looked like a fire hydrant in a pretty dress!”
I recently read an abstract on wireless eavesdropping presented at a conference on Network Applications ( Yes, I read these things, so you don’t have to!) According to the author, 5G systems are “hybrid communications systems” in which “eavesdroppers can improve their eavesdropping effect by selecting the wave to eavesdrop on.” The eavesdropping is performed by a “malicious node” (ie: a router or a hub). Interestingly, it’s the node at fault, it’s the “node” at fault, not the people who invented it. It’s a techy’s version of “Guns don’t kill people…”; People don’t eavesdrop, nodes do. The blameless human points a finger at the nonentity.
The truth is: eavesdropping involves being in the room, involves active listening, paying attention, overhearing, and more often than not, interrupting, pulling one’s chair over to introduce oneself, making small-talk, sharing stories. Like the time an older man was telling his friend that he just got a text saying there was a sale on the tractor part he was looking for. “That’s handy,” said the friend. “No!” Said the first guy. “ I don’t want my phone following me around, telling me what to buy. I just got this thing to please the wife. And get pictures of my grandkids. I don’t need to be spied on!” “Me Too!” I blurted. “Sorry, but I just overheard what you said. I got an ad sent to me after talking on the phone to my sister about looking for a new computer!”
I realize I just gave you an example of a spy complaining about being spied on. But I was in the room, and I struck up a great conversation with the two gentlemen. And I wasn’t trying to sell them something. Spies gather information to use against others. I just want to hear how people converse. I might get an idea from their conversation, but I won’t be using their words against them or selling them to the tabloids if they happen to be celebrities. In fact, I’m not interested in giving celebrities any more publicity than they already get. I prefer listening to strangers.
When the movie “My Dinner With Andre” came out in 1981, all I could think was: Wow, I wish I was at the table next to those two! And, apparently, so did a few others, because the two actors in the movie, who play themselves, basically transcribed their conversation into a script, and the director Lous Malle filmed it, and it’s now a cult classic.
There’s a touching and funny scene in the movie where Wally to confides to Andre that his one comfort is his electric blanket. Andre responds: But Wally, that kind of comfort separates you from reality in a very direct way. Instead of going to the closet to get another blanket, instead of snuggling up even more with your girlfriend, you just turn up a blanket. Feeling the cold “sets up a link of things. You have compassion for … well, the person next to you. Are other people in the world cold? Turn on that electric blanket, and it’s like taking a tranquilizer. It’s like being lobotomized by watching television.”
It’s alarming that we are so far past the tranquilizing dangers of electric blankets and TVs. But we can “still set up links” of compassion and empathy, if just by sitting next to each and listening in.