Dear World: I’m Not Answering My Phone

I’m Ash, and I’m a writer, traveler, nonconformist & nomad, and every week I’m sharing funny field notes from around the world. Currently, I’m in America writing about what it’s been like to return home to my small town, twenty years after living abroad.

Some people think the key to life is in eating your greens.

I think it’s about not answering the phone.

Nothing good ever happens on the phone. Nothing. Think about the last time you were on it: was it a great call? Were you invigorated? Were you just SO happy you answered?

Or did your brain start buffering like an old Windows 95 computer while you were just painstakingly waiting for it to be over?

You know who DOES want to talk on the phone?

Two groups of menaces:

People trying to sell you something, and people trying to hide something.

The first group—people trying to sell you something—is the worst group, because sometimes it actually works. They think if they can get you on the phone and “have a conversation,” they are going to hypnotize you with their VAST BODY OF KNOWLEDGE AND POWER, and suddenly you’re giving your billing info to a man named Chad who keeps calling you ‘champ.’

The second group of people are lawyers. They don’t like having things in writing, in case they’re actually giving you bad advice. Plus, makes it harder to bill you for the follow-up call.

My preference as a feral millennial who was raised by dial-up internet and has a deep fear of voicemail?

Email.

If we email, I have it in writing. And, if we email, I have reaction time to think clearly about what I actually want (versus being pushed into something I don’t want). And, if we email, I can push the little “archive” button and save our communication forever and ever and ever, so I can search for it in 8 years when I’m trying to determine where my life went wrong. 🤣

And texting?

Well, texting is ridiculous. Too loosey goosey. Where am I gonna keep that text? Something about it feels like putting your birth certificate into a Taco Bell napkin. Plus, you might expect me to respond in real time, because texting has no chill and it’s convinced everyone they’re running a 24/7 help desk. Text messages are supposed to be returned quickly. It’s like having a dog collar around your neck, and giving other people the button. Zap! ZAP! ZAAAAAP!

Texting comes with too much performance anxiety. I’m a known fugitive in at least three group chats. I’m the person who leaves her phone on Do Not Disturb indefinitely, just so I can own my time again.

Which is why, I must tell you, when THE DOOR GUY started calling this morning?

I took one look at that caller ID and made a staunch vow not to answer.

The nerve!

Because, as we know, Door Guy falls into Group #1: People trying to sell you something.

Which is not appropriate because—drum roll—I decided to cancel the doors. Remember the freakin’ $12,000 doors? Well, in the end, I decided it wasn’t worth the cost-benefit ratio to spend that much money on a door. I also decided not to be a complete fucking idiot.

So, I had until midnight on 10/9 to cancel the doors.

As such, I called the company.

*DEEP, SOOTHING BREATH*

I make the call, because even though I am a millennial monster who doesn’t like talking to people on the phone, I am still surprisingly good at it. The woman on the other end of the line was nice enough, but told me that I should get in touch with DOOR GUY to cancel.

Probably so he can try to get me to change my mind, I think.

So, I decided to do what any millennial would do:

I emailed Door Guy.

You know, have it in writing by midnight on 10/9! (Which is actually important.)
Avoid the phone! (Bliss.)
And not give Door Guy a chance to charm me with an “exclusive, limited-time offer” (or something equally sinister).

Door Guy does not write back.

And because, I repeat, I am a millennial monster, I can see when someone has opened my emails. And Door Guy did, in fact, see my email days ago. But, Door Guy (still) did not respond.

So this morning I did—yet again—what any millennial would do:

I forwarded my cancellation request to his boss.

Said something nice, like “Hope you choke on a Lego, here is my cancellation request from 10/9.” Except it was much nicer than that, because I am a nice person via email.

And do you know what happened next?

Do you?

Do you?????????

The phone started ringing.

And, I did not answer it. *holds ground!*

Then ten seconds later, it rang again.

And, I didn’t answer it again.

Because I don’t need to talk to you on the phone.
I don’t need to go over the reasons for my “no.”
I just need my “no” respected and heard.
Preferably via email, in writing, with read receipts.

And now I’m looking in my inbox, and you know what is not there? An email reply.

Alas?

We are now in a duel. 🤺

Because I know why you’re calling, Chad.

But I am a woman who’s done explaining. Who’s done making her boundaries sound polite enough to be palatable. Who’s done being negotiated with like she’s a coupon code about to expire.

I don’t owe anyone a phone call to validate my “no.” I don’t need to be persuaded, reasoned with, or made to feel like I’m missing out. Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is refuse to re-open a door you already closed. (DOOR PUNS FOR THE WIN.)

So yes, I canceled the doors, and no, I didn’t answer the phone. Because nowadays, peace is my new favorite wellness routine.

Screw green juice—maybe silence is the new celery.

And honestly? I’ve never felt more hydrated.

P.S. Before I could finish writing this, the phone rang again and it was this number from Toronto, Canada. They had called multiple times last week—daily—so I figured I should pick up and make sure I wasn’t wanted by the Canadian authorities. Who was it? A tech company I signed up for a free trial with. Who required my phone number at sign-up. Calling to sell me their service. Please, let the madness stop. I only have so much patience for people who say “no pressure” right before applying industrial-grade pressure.

(At this point, I think being wanted by the Canadian authorities might be less taxing.)

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