Illustrator: Albert Collado<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

I set one foot inside the shiny black SUV and hoist myself up. I wish they had running boards; my legs are too short for me to climb in gracefully. I plop into an empty seat in the back, getting a vague impression of a clean-cut young man in the other seat. I glimpse a dark-haired woman in front. I\u2019ve kept them all waiting a minute or two and brace myself for a comment, but there is no reproach. I give my name to the driver and we get moving.<\/p>\n

A conversation resumes. “The truth is, I’m not really interested in that kind of job,” says the woman. She cranes around to talk to the guy next to me. I can see her profile: maybe early thirties, with elegant features and precise makeup.<\/p>\n

“Why not?” says the man. I sneak a better look at him. Young, late twenties, not quite movie-star handsome. Maybe neurologist handsome.<\/p>\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t be somebody\u2019s secretary. I\u2019m too strong-willed,\u201d she says. Humblebrag alert. \u201cI would say, get your own damn coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughs. \u201cThen what\u2019s wrong with your job now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just...bored,\u201d she says. I\u2019ve been willfully deaf, not looking up, trying to play a game on my phone, but I can\u2019t help getting interested.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of work is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

She mentions a type of service-provider. Let\u2019s call it an upscale dog-grooming spa. She gives the street but not the name of the business. \u201cI mean, I\u2019m a partner there, I\u2019m not just an assistant. I couldn\u2019t work where I didn\u2019t have control.\u201d The two keep talking. Apparently he\u2019s a headhunter. They discuss jobs she can do and how he can help free her from her ennui. They exchange first names and he gives her his email address. It slips past me but I do a search on my phone for the place she works. In my defense, she isn\u2019t the only one in the cab who is bored. I don\u2019t find anything online; without her last name, I can\u2019t narrow it down, even with the approximate location. This is Manhattan, so you can bet there are a lot of places people can go for pet-primping.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n

Ridesharing: one more way to overshare. It\u2019s not news that it\u2019s too easy to relax and digitally say more than the world is interested in knowing and way more than you should safely divulge. But I love this neat synthesis of new technology and bad old habits. Just download an app that lets you get where you are going for less money than a solo ride, and all you have to do is spend time in a comfortable vehicle with one or more other like-minded passengers. And if you want, you can pretend that you and another interesting person are not being overheard, and since you\u2019ll never see any of us again, you can tell all your secrets. Isn\u2019t that fun?<\/p>\n

It reminds me of the Cone of Silence, from the late, lamented television show \u201cGet Smart.\u201d Agent Maxwell Smart would insist on discussing top-secret intelligence under an ungainly plastic dome in order not to be overheard. The joke was that it never worked \u2013 the spies couldn\u2019t hear each other but anyone outside could hear everything.<\/p>\n

We can\u2019t choose not to hear, of course. It\u2019s not as though people have the equivalent of eyelids on their ears, and covering one\u2019s ears isn\u2019t the solution: (1) it looks weird, and (2) if you\u2019re trying to be fascinating, why can\u2019t I listen? Here\u2019s why. In a city with a lot of spaces where overhearing is not just possible but inevitable, there has to be a social compact: I ignore what you are saying to someone else, or at least refrain from acting on it, unless it\u2019s going to make me a lot of money; you don\u2019t over-burden me with your chatter.<\/p>\n

The rideshare adds digital drama to eavesdropping. Remember when talking was safe? Even if a listener was so inclined, it wasn\u2019t easy to assemble the puzzle of someone else\u2019s life based on scattered clues carelessly dropped. Now we forget it\u2019s easy to get ourselves in trouble the old-fashioned way as well. I guess it doesn\u2019t occur to most people that random strangers sharing their space might use a little tech to cause a little pain. Anyway, who\u2019s going around dropping their Social Security number or birthdate in public?<\/p>\n

Probably no one. But creative bad guys don\u2019t need sensitive information to cause trouble. Last year I lost a pair of eyeglasses (fell out of a pocket) and I put a lost-and-found on Craiglist. Someone texted me: I may have found what you are looking for <\/em>\u2013 please see photograph<\/em>. I clicked on the photo and couldn\u2019t open it, so I sent it to my laptop, opened it and got malware on my computer, and had to spend some time scrubbing it out. (I felt better when I searched online and found dozens of complaints from people who\u2019d gotten the same message from the same phone number after optimistically placing lost-and-founds. You don\u2019t mind being a fool so much if you\u2019re not the first.) So let\u2019s take as a given that there are always people who derive a certain malign glee in making strangers feel uncomfortable, lose money, or worse. I think any real New Yorker assumes that at least one guy on your subway car is probably a violent crazy. What kind of elitist attitude makes anyone think that the crazy doesn\u2019t do ride-shares? And it doesn\u2019t have to be a crazy person. It can just be someone who\u2019s a little bored with playing phone apps and looking out the window and starts to take too great an interest in what you are saying.<\/p>\n

I wasn\u2019t planning to misuse the information the woman was dribbling and \u2013 spoiler alert \u2013 I didn\u2019t. I don\u2019t take pleasure in making strangers suffer; I need to know you well before I do that. But the two of them kept talking, not concerned that I might want some quiet. I\u2019m too well-bred to have shushed them, though I kept wondering: if I wanted to be bad, how hard would it be? So I kept listening.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think we need an assistant at our firm,\u201d says the man.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of responsibilities would that involve?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s for someone who sits out front, greets people.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike a receptionist?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, exactly.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s actually much more than that,\u201d he adds, fast. \u201cIt requires independent thinking and decision making.\u201d He gives more details. \u201cIs that something you might be interested in?\u201d<\/p>\n

She has perked up. \u201cActually, yes. That does sound interesting.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tells him about other jobs she\u2019s had. She was an actress, she says. \u201cYou know, I don\u2019t just do grooming where I work. What I really do is sales.\u201d<\/p>\n

He coughs. \u201cLike, what do you mean, \u2018sales\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI sell product to our clients. Last week I sold $10,000 of stuff to someone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even I am impressed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s amazing,\u201d he says. \u201cDid you ever consider real estate?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely,\u201d she says. \u201cThat\u2019s what I would love to sell. I\u2019d be great at it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you ever think of getting your broker\u2019s license?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s the thing,\u201d she says. \u201cI feel like there\u2019s a lot I can do. But I\u2019m trying to figure it out now.\u201d Maybe he had some ideas. \u201cI never got to finish college so I just didn\u2019t get on track when I was younger.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I left school after I met my husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

A very loud silence hits the cab. I shoot a look at the driver; he is staring straight ahead, straining not to be a part of this.<\/p>\n

\u201cReally,\u201d says the poor guy.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I met him in college.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does he do?\u201d<\/p>\n

She gives her husband\u2019s first name. \u201cHe\u2019s a producer,\u201d she says, proud of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat of?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing you ever heard of,\u201d she says. She mentions a few movies. I have even heard of one of them. I do a quick phone search and find the name of the producer. Now I have a last name for the husband. I search his full name and her first name and get her last name. She hasn\u2019t changed it, or at least it isn\u2019t the same as her husband\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cWow, of course I know those movies,\u201d the man says.<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d she says, clearly delighted. \u201cI was in a couple of them. But they cut my lines.\u201d<\/p>\n

I keep tapping at my phone. She\u2019s telling the truth: she\u2019s had tiny roles. I use her full name to find the place where she works. I consider whether her partners would be interested in knowing she is dead bored and telling strangers in rideshare cabs that she\u2019d abandon her partners at the first good offer. But I told you: this Sherlockian exercise was for demonstration purposes only.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen was this?\u201d he says. I admire his perseverance.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I was in my twenties. It was amazing, I met him and he took my life in a new direction,\u201d she says. She pauses. \u201cYou know, I\u2019m thirty-five now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet out of here,\u201d he says. Cute and<\/em> gallant.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, really.\u201d<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a ping up front. I glance up and check the screen affixed to the dashboard: it\u2019s someone\u2019s stop.<\/p>\n

The woman starts gathering her things. The car slows. She says goodbye to the man and self-consciously gets out, her descent infinitely more fluid than my lumbering ascent earlier. I get my first good look at her. She does look young, though not \u201cget out of here\u201d young.<\/p>\n

The man is dropped off a few blocks later. Then it\u2019s just the driver and me.<\/p>\n

Someone has to break the silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow do people tell everything to strangers?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

The driver grins. \u201cOh, you should have seen it before you got in. It was really smooth. They kept talking and talking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d Sorry I missed it.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe got in first, and then he got in. And then they were talking. So he tells her she should move to the back seat so it\u2019s easier to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what happened?\u201d I say. That\u2019s funny. \u201cShe wouldn\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe gave him a look and she said no, it\u2019s O.K.\u201d<\/p>\n

Good for her. \u201cIt seemed to me that when she mentioned her husband, it was all over.\u201d<\/p>\n

The cab driver guffaws. \u201cExactly. When she said she was married, he backed off so fast. I think he figured, \u2018I\u2019m not getting messed up in this, I don\u2019t want this guy to come after me.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

We both laugh. We get to talking about the long hours he has. Then he tells me he has crushing back pain from doing some yard work; he\u2019s going for surgery the next day. He tells me how many hours it will take, and what hospital he\u2019s going to, and the name of his surgeon.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember any of that stuff, though. It\u2019s none of my business.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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