I hate when loud-talking-people are on their cell phones in my presence. 
[FOR EXAMPLE]
I was getting my nails done yesterday and aside from the occasional bark of an employee here and there (all of whom sounded disgruntled, but they weren’t—that’s just how they talk), the place was pretty quiet. Well, that was until Drea [pronounced “DRAY”] walked in. I can tell you that her name is pronounced, “DRAY” with absolute certainty because she said it over and over (and over) again. “DRAY” [sporting an Ed Hardy sweatsuit] thought the nail salon was the perfect place to record a new outgoing voice mail message AND to troubleshoot her visual voicemail situation with AT&T. (Duh.) I can also tell you DRAY’s cell phone number because she screamed it no less than nine times to the tech person trying to help her. (But I won’t because I’m a classy miss lady. [True story.]) Let’s just say that someone (more specifically, someone whose names rhymes with “clay”) might be receiving a prank call (or several) of them from this moi in the not-so-distant future.