“We closed today. Yes, I’m glad it’s over. It went for 3.1 mil. Not quite what we wanted, but what can you do? I’m on my way downtown to pick up my car. The Mercedes. William has the Jag. I’ll see you tonight. Bye.”

The woman with the heavy accent ended the call on her cell phone. I never saw what she looked like, but I wondered why she hadn’t taken a cab, instead of sitting right behind me on the M6 bus. Perhaps that “3.1 mil” will mean she needn’t take public transportation anymore and subject her fellow riders to tales of her oh-so-frenetic life.

Standing at the front of that same bus was an elderly gentleman with a thick head of white hair and a theatrical, fluffy mustache. He had answered his ringing cell phone, and we learned that he was 85 years old that day and in rather good health. As the bus careened down the avenue, we learned about his plans for that night. Happy Birthday, Gramps.

I don’t really mind listening to certain cell calls if they’re interesting, and some users go out of their way to make sure they are – even when their conversations seem to be huge stretches of the imagination. This is New York City, where a significant portion of the population is connected in some way to the creative industries. Sometimes the one-sided conversations are great fodder for fiction writers, especially those specializing in romantic tales of woe. All the conversations I’m including in this column are real, and I repeat them here as close to verbatim as I can. I’ve changed the names to protect the woefully naive.

“Hi, Shelly? It’s me, Steve. You met me before. I’m the guy from craigslist. Yeah, I know. I never did that before either. You’re moving? Oh. You’re going back to your husband? Oh. Did you need any help with the move? No, I just thought… I really had a nice time and wanted … Hello?”

That poor man was on the Third Avenue bus. He called Shelly back two more times on the way uptown, and strangely enough, could not get through.

Whether we like it or not, cell phones are a part of our lives, and since almost everybody has one the devices no longer carry the mark of exclusivity or cachet they once had. They are as common in the inner city as they are in the boardroom of a Fortune 500 firm.

One distinction that remains between cell phones and landlines is privacy. When it was reported that 2005 would witness the advent of cell-phone directories, panic set in among some users.

People feared their private numbers would be released to telemarketers who machine-dial thousands of electronic marketing messages. Since some, if not most, services charge for incoming calls, these cell phone users imagined huge increases in their monthly bills. Others complained that their listings would be in directories to which everyone has access.

Neither scenario is true. A December 13 article in Business Week magazine said: “There are no plans for a directory to be printed or made public or, heaven forbid, sold to telemarketers. … All U.S. wireless-service providers, except for Verizon Wireless, will allow their customers to opt in to a directory assistance service. To do so, you’ll need to make a call to your service provider or perhaps sign something saying you’d like to be listed. The listing will be free.”

So if you want to be listed you can be, and if you don’t, your privacy should still be assured. But let’s face it. There are people out there who do not know the meaning of the word privacy. They use their phones to promote themselves. Sometimes the results are hilarious.

One young man exiting a taxicab near the Staten Island Ferry terminal was yelling into his trendy cell about how he had told someone he was “gonna kick his sorry a– when I get hold of him.” He went on and on, sounding real tough, until his cell phone started ringing while he was still talking. Seemingly startled, he looked around to see if anyone had heard it. Then he told his phantom listener that his other line was ringing, and he answered the real call, which was apparently from his mother.

As a writer, I find these peeks into people’s lives, whether real or imaginary, interesting unless they come laden with profanity. In a city of 8 million, where even neighbors find it difficult to speak to one another, it’s comforting to hear the human dramas, exposed by the wonder of cellular technology, that prove what a small world we live in.