Last week, while maneuvering from the Robert Bell Building to the Atrium, I noticed a girl sitting in an alcove at the front of the David Letterman Communication and Media Building on the second floor.
She was sitting on the wide windowsill, back against the wall, doing homework. The window to her left overlooked the front of the Letterman Building, Shafer Tower and students' foot traffic. I imagined the sun gently shining through the window, falling onto the words of her textbook and warming her hand momentarily as she turns the page. Where I choose to read is as much a decision as what I read, and a few days later after my Friday morning class, I claimed the spot as my own.
For a few minutes, I sat on my perch people watching. Students came and went through the doors of the Letterman Building and I realized I could hear the conversations of people not yet inside; that is, people between the first and second set of doors leading into the building. Although most of the conversations were trivial, either concerning homework or someone's next class, occasionally a student would walk through talking on a cell phone, midway through thirsty Thursday stories.
After comfortably settling into the latest Robert Langdon thriller, one conversation caught my attention. From what I could tell, it was a man of undeterminable age talking on a cell phone.
"I mean, he likes me for who I am and doesn't mind my stockiness. He's kind of into it. That's big for me, finding someone who isn't so shallow." Then a brief pause. "Right, so this weekend I'm going on a fact-finding mission to see what's really going on."
I'm not one to closet a curiosity, so indulging myself, I leaned over the edge to get a look. I stared down at someone dressed like a professor in a button-up and dark slacks. From my bird's eye view, I couldn't identify any distinguishing details, except for the top of his scalp, which was either bald or thinning. Unable to retreat back into my novel, I listened to the rest of his brief conversation before a group of architecture students entered the building, and the possible professor ended his call.
Since overheard dialogue is usually taken out of context, what someone does catch can be as compelling as hearing an entire conversation. Our imaginations write the conversation in our head, with ridiculous results.
Roughly a month ago, I was passing DeHority Complex where a man and a woman stood out front, dressed as what looked like chefs or catering employees. I didn't intend to eavesdrop, but I heard the man say, "We're not going to be together forever, so I need you to start making mistakes."
Suddenly, my untied shoe was an urgent problem seeking correction. As I crouched down, they spoke in lower voices and my effort was in vain. I wondered if what I heard referred to a relationship between them, whether it be romantic or platonic, or a work arrangement.
Even now, as I'm writing this, a couple is sitting near me in Bracken Library: a girl in a pink Ball State hoodie and a guy with a double ear piercing. He left for a moment and, upon his return, was relentlessly questioned by his girlfriend about, of all things, which restroom he used. The girl seems irrationally irritated by his choice of lavatory, so I'm postulating she was already aggravated by something or - and here I show my preference for conspiracy theories - she thinks he's cheating on her and he managed a minute-long rendezvous.
Although I will shamelessly admit to an affinity for gossip, eavesdropping on strangers is preferable. Different from hearing the whispered conversation between two friends, listening to strangers rarely carries consequences or repercussions. I'm not directly affected by what I hear and am prone to share especially interesting snippets of conversation with friends. Although a question of ethics may arise, I am entertained from the moment someone starts speaking to the lamentable step taking me out of earshot.
Perhaps it's natural human behavior to want to know about other peoples' lives, or maybe it's conditioned through society and the ever-widening social network. Regardless, I don't feel apologetic about listening to other people's conversations, least of all when what's said sounds illicit. Actually, in such cases, I want to thank them for sharing.
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