Teenagers.

I wrote this last night while waiting for our plane.

Do you remember ever being really, really bored as a teenager? Do you remember looking through your cell phone (or brick-sized car phone or phone book depending on the era during which you were a teenager) for the number of someone, anyone you could call for an entertaining conversation, even if that person was an acquaintance from high school that you acknowledged only a handful of times? These searches typically occurred when you were stranded somewhere, like at an airport waiting for a delayed flight or enduring a weekend visit with your mom's second grandcousin thrice removed. You've done it; I've done it.

Now the kid sitting across from me at Dulles Airport gate B64 is doing it. He has called at least five different people whose numbers he has managed to scrounge up from deep within the bowels of his iPhone. He sounds like Screech from Saved by the Bell and he's speaking at maximum volume.

Here's what I know about "Screech" from listening to being bombarded by his conversations. He just finished up his first semester of college. He doesn't go back until January 25th. He doesn't have a major yet but he's leaning towards accounting. It's clear that Screech hasn't spoken to most of these people in some time. One of the people he called got married recently. "So how's married life?!" One person he called lives in Connecticut. He invited a different friend/acquaintance/phone pal to Las Vegas. In the next conversation he invited someone to an abandoned building in upstate New York. (I have no idea. I'm just reporting what I heard.) During one phone call he mused that he should take a flight somewhere exotic. "Somewhere far. Away from here. And live in a hotel there forever. I'll have free WiFi. And my bed will be done every day. You know, they'll... What do you call it? They'll do... They'll do my bed." Clearly, this kid has never made his bed. He doesn't even know the phrase.

During one of his random conversations he became agitated and said, "Stop doing that. I'm hanging up if you don't turn that down! Stop. You're on speaker." He wasn't on speakerphone. Liar. Screech concluded that call by flatly stating, "I'm going to end this call now because I'm bored. I'm hitting END now."

I was just about to walk over, kneel next to Screech, and say in a discreet therapist tone, "You probably don't realize it, but you're speaking very loudly." An older gentlemen beat me to it. He stood up, walked toward Screech, placed one palm parallel to floor and made the "lower your voice" gesture. Screech stammered an apology to the man, told his phone mate in a hushed voice that he had to go and abruptly hung up. The older man walked back to his seat and sat down, sporting a victorious grin. Good job, Sir.