Why does the voice saying 'Yes, hello' turn into someone else's?

It happened while I was chopping onions on the cutting board, keeping my daughter, who was scattering blocks in the living room, in check with a low voice saying, 'Clean that up right now.'

My smartphone vibrated in my apron pocket.

The screen showed an incoming call from a senior colleague at work.

I hurriedly wiped my hands, swiped the call button, and the moment I held it to my ear, my Adam's apple automatically jumped up, and a voice, higher and clearer than I even expected, was launched.

'Yes, hello.'

Where had the low voice I was directing at the blocks on the floor just seconds ago gone?

It had become a voice like that of a professional operator, or perhaps a slightly nervous small animal.

My daughter's eyes, as if looking at a stranger.

The exquisite awkwardness after hanging up the phone is indescribable.

When I turned around, my daughter had stopped playing with the blocks and was staring straight at me with a serious face.

Her eyes were filled with bottomless distrust, as if she wanted to say, 'Who was that just now?'

I couldn't blame her.

The mother who had been scolding her with a low, demon-like voice just a moment before had instantly been possessed by a friendly stranger, like a cast member at a certain theme park.

I felt unbearable, gave a small cough, and began chopping the onions again as if nothing had happened.

However, it is surprisingly difficult to shift the gears of your vocal cords back down once they have been raised.

'...Come on, clean that up quickly.'

I tried saying the same line as before, but the tone of my voice was somehow lost, and it lacked any intimidation.

My daughter looked at me as if she had completely seen my weakness and went back to playing with her blocks.

Why do we undergo such a magnificent transformation for an invisible person on the other end of a phone call?

We are being considerate to the machine.

It is often said that our 'public voice' is a social mask we wear to present ourselves in a better light.

Of course, that is part of it, but it seems that is not the only reason.

A telephone, as a machine, does not transmit every sound of a human voice to the other person.

It is said that the frequency of sounds it can pick up is limited, and it is designed to only allow a certain range of sounds to pass through.

Apparently, low or muffled voices become a bit harder to hear during a call.

Furthermore, an unfamiliar phenomenon called the 'Lombard effect' also seems to be involved.

Humans have a habit of unconsciously raising their voices when their surroundings are noisy or when their ears are covered, making it difficult to hear their own voice. And as the voice gets louder, the pitch naturally rises due to the structure of the body.

In other words, we unconsciously sense the limitations of the machine's performance and the environment, and end up taking the trouble to tune our voices to the state most easily heard by the other person.

While clutching the latest smartphone, the fact that we humans are actually diligently accommodating the machine's needs makes me feel a bit ridiculous.

A defense instinct that says 'I am harmless'

And there is one more, more fundamental reason.

In the animal world, a high-pitched voice signifies a small body, as well as youth and immaturity.

It seems that when we are with someone whose face we cannot see, we unconsciously try to make our bodies appear smaller.

It is a signal of survival instinct that says, 'I am harmless, I will not attack, so please feel at ease.'

Even though we are grown adults and think we are navigating the rough seas of society, the moment the phone rings, we expose our ancient, wild defense instincts.

The lost natural voice and the onion that stings the eyes

Next time I answer the phone, I will try to speak in a more natural, normal voice.

With the composure of an adult, in a low, calm voice, being my true self.

I may keep such a resolution in my heart, but the next time my smartphone vibrates, I will surely switch the switch in the back of my throat again by reflex.

'I am harmless.'

While asserting that with all my might to an unseen person, I continue to mindlessly chop onions that sting my eyes.

The smell of onions clinging to my fingertips and the slight scratchiness in the back of my throat from forcing my voice up.

I want to keep laughing at this lovable defense mechanism and my daughter's cold gaze from behind for just a little longer.

▼ For those who want to look at more 'mysteries'

Have you ever unintentionally caught a 'Kansai dialect' from someone else, just like a formal voice on the phone? Here is another lovable mechanism where the brain automatically copies the other person.

Speaking of voices that come out unconsciously, there is the 'heave-ho' when standing up. Actually, that voice is not just aging, but a brilliant survival strategy to flip a switch in the body.