Cell-Phone Etiquette

An offensive strategy

by Carole Ackerman — April 9, 2007

By now, everyone knows the rules on cell phones, those indispensable little gizmos that have become as much a fact of modern life as the Post-It. Turn the thing off in theaters. Do not bring your cell to the dinner table, whether at home or in a restaurant. And limit your yakking on public transportation. Even the doyennes of etiquette, such as Miss Manners, Charlotte Ford, and Letitia Baldridge, have taken note. "The cell phone is a glorious invention," writes Baldridge, "but realize that it annoys more people than it helps, and resolve to yourself that you will always use it politely...."

Fine and dandy. But like jaywalking, cell-phone no-no’s are consistently ignored, as was infuriatingly brought home to me on a recent train trip between Washington, D.C., and New York City. I thought I’d lucked out when I landed a seat next to a skinny teenaged girl who was quietly reading The Girl’s Guide to Bible Study. What better-mannered seatmate for a long trip? Then, a few miles north of Baltimore, the train stalled. After 15 minutes, the conductor announced we would be delayed for at least 45 minutes or an hour. Everyone reached for his or her cell phone. Not my sweet seatmate, bless her heart.

After an hour, the news was even worse: The train had struck some unfortunate soul and it would be “quite some time” before the coroner arrived and another train could be dispatched to send us to our destinations. Audible groans, and then the cell cacophony went into overdrive. And the darling girl next to me dove into her purse and promptly called a friend to tell of her plight and chew over some recent grievance. “And I’m telling you, Linda, that is not what I said to that boy in chemistry. DO YOU HEAR ME?” That skinny little thing had a voice like a foghorn on crystal meth, and she had a lot to say to Linda. About two hours’ worth, in fact.

I was in agony. There were no vacant seats. There are only so many trips you can make to the bathroom or the café car. There is only so long you can stand in the aisle. I thought about telling my seatmate to lower her voice (and remembered the news story of the Australian tourist in Texas who was charged with assault after asking another woman in a movie theater to pipe down on the “mobile”). I thought about strangling her. I thought—despairingly—about the portable CD player I’d left at home.

By the time we shifted to another train, I was close to screaming. I arrived in New York five hours late, and in a fine frazzle.

There is no easy way to handle these situations, especially when people’s tempers are frayed to the max. But I have developed a few strategies of my own to deal with cell-phone offenders, and there are others I have culled from friends.

• My friend Richard frequently takes phone calls when we are having a drink or dinner together. I’ve made it clear to him that if he wants to continue doing so, he must tell me all the specifics of the conversation afterward. He has a number of girlfriends. The stories are often entertaining.
• When a friend or associate makes or takes calls on the cell when in your company, and if you find the intrusion irritating, get up and walk out. Especially if no apologies are offered.
• If you’re annoyed by someone using a cell on, say, public transportation, move close and listen to every detail, perhaps nodding your head occasionally or making gratuitous comments. (“That list of stuff you asked your husband to pick up at the market sounds wonderful. What are you making for dinner?”)
• Pull out your own phone and carry on an even louder conversation. If you don’t have a cell phone on you, use your wallet or checkbook.
• Cell-phone users on the street tend to move in a chaotic manner, often lurching in odd directions or weaving as though inebriated. If this impedes your progress, tap the offender on the shoulder and ask, sweetly, “You seem to be having trouble walking. Can I hail you a cab or help you home?”
• And, yes, you can ask the person to pipe down. I have never had the nerve to do this, but I’ve witnessed others confront the offender. On a train trip to the East End of Long Island a couple of years back, I heard a woman admonish a girl for gabbing at full throttle outside the bathroom. The other passengers enthusiastically applauded.

For now, though, I’ve decided that the best defense is simply another defense. I’ve asked my best friend to buy me an iPod for my birthday, and I intend to carry it always and plug into it whenever necessary.

Carole Ackerman is a New York-based writer.