I do not answer other people’s cellphones unless they ask me to. Voice mail exists for a reason.
A house phone is public property that any family member can use. A cellphone — that’s like a computer, a diary, a person’s whole life compacted down into an easy to carry device.
It’s one of the last bastions of American freedom. In a world where every moment of your life is documented whether you want it to be or not, you at least get to decide *who* invades your privacy.
Big Brother is watching. But he better know to keep his mouth shut.
Your sister flipping through your phone… That shit is cataclysmic.
Or what if a girlfriend answers your phone? She’s your girlfriend if you’re still not sure of the relationship. She’d be your *fiancee* if you want a long-term commitment. (A two-year engagement is about right, six months at the minimum. Don’t be in such a hurry to sign over half your stuff.)
Unless you verbally give permission, she should not be digging through your stuff. And you shouldn’t have given her your Social Security Number. That was dumb.
Anyways, it may seem rude that I don’t offer to answer my brother’s phone. Unless he says, “Hey Lisa, can you get that?” I’ll let it ring to voice mail.
I wouldn’t want him to pick up my cellphone, so I never bother his. It’s not mine.
He wouldn’t want my fingerprints on it, or my face grease, just as I wouldn’t want anyone else’s on mine.
A cellphone is sacrosanct. Respect it. Fear it. Stop demanding a trust people aren’t ready to give. It doesn’t make you seem more trustworthy. It just makes people uncomfortable as they tell you “No. Hell to the no.”
