I believe eavesdropping is one of life’s guilty pleasures – akin to sucking down a pint or two of Ben & Jerry’s Dublin Mudslide or Peanut Butter Cup at two o’clock in the morning while watching the Game Show Network. If you ever marveled at Charles Nelson Reilly’s flowing ascots on Match Game while iced chocolate sugar seeped over your lips, you know what I’m talking about. And trust me; it’s just as satisfyingly indulgent to plug into the surround sound of conversations in this world that we are not meant to hear.
Now mine is not a novel opinion. Humans have always been fascinated by what others are saying – particularly if the ones who are doing the talking don’t want us to know what they’re talking about.
Illicitly gained information has not only served as a steady form of entertainment throughout the years (Think Three’s Company and Mr. Furley shaking like a Mexican jumping bean with his ear pressed against Jack’s closed bedroom door), but has also been the hallmark of totalitarian governments as well as the difference in wars won and lost (Psst, Adolph, I heard the big invasion will be in the Bahamas).
With the proliferation of the Internet, we even have websites such as overheardinnewyork.com that will provide anyone with a modem and a mouse, scraps of sentences picked up by the creeping ears of bystanders in the streets and subways.
And what is the most controversial issue in politics today? George Bush’s right to listen in on our phone calls to uncover terrorist plots (“No, Special Agent Smith, I ordered ‘Lo Mein and peapods’ – not ‘propane and Jihad.’ “) My initial experience with the joys of eavesdropping started with my older sister and her first boyfriend. He’d call her on the phone; I’d covertly pick up another receiver and listen in, wait until a juicy moment, and then belch loudly. This was my first and only talent – the ability to burp on command.
But with pleasure came pain, as my sister would invariably corner me in a room and scratch me bloody with her Lee Press-On Nails.
And that’s the rub: most short-term gratifications in life, i.e. sugar, gossip, bad TV, come with long-term detriments. I mean, we love the Cool Whip now, but hate the angioplasty later. And we’d prefer that a human bomb be caught before sitting down next to us on a train, but abhor the invasion of privacy needed to sniff them out.
So I’ll continue to listen in and be listened to, and won’t complain either way. My only hope is that the conversations I overhear will be as fascinating as what I’m giving out. And considering my interests revolve around Charles Nelson Reilly’s ascots and burping, it shouldn’t be a problem. – John McCaffrey
John McCaffrey, Hoboken resident, is a frequent contributor of the Current. In 2004 he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He is currently at work on a novel.