I had a neighbor across the hall form me recently who was not just a loud phone talker; she was a phone screamer. She literally screamed at the top of her voice when on the phone. Between my apartment and hers there is a wall, a hallway then another wall but I could hear ever single word she ever said on the phone. (Even if I had music on.)

I wanted to tell her, “Hey, you’re talking into a phone, not an empty tin can connected by wire to another empty tin can. You don’t have to scream.”

Of course I never said that to her. That would have been rude.

During the year and a half that she lived there I learned way, way, way, way too much about her — stuff that I really, really, really didn’t want to know. But I was forced to hear every word of every one of her phone conversations. I learned that she hated her adult children, she hated her mother, she hated her friends, she hated her job, she hated her car, and she hated whoever was in the White House.

Once I heard her call a friend to try to score a bag of pot. Seriously, there are times when it is wise to lower one’s voice. When not on the phone she actually had a soft, quiet voice. But as soon as she had a phone in her hand she started screaming like a banshee.

She moved out about a year ago and the guy who moved in after her either does not have a phone or he is a phone whisperer. I don’t know a damn thing about him.

As for me, when on the phone I just use my regular voice — whatever that is. Truth is, I’m still searching for my voice.