Take my friend, for example. One Friday night, she was doing her best emulation of a “playa,” feeling justified perhaps following a string of similar treatment by men. After making tentative plans to meet up with a certain man, I’ll call Thing 2, she received a surprise visit by another man who she found preferable to Thing 2, thereby labeling him Thing 1.

As my friend was enjoying an intimate get-together on the couch with Thing 1, her cell phone rang. Of course she wasn’t going to interrupt their activity to answer the phone. The phone was set to vibrate, so as it continued to ring, it vibrated itself off of the coffee table and onto the floor. The impact caused the phone to answer the call from Thing 2. At first Thing 2 was confused that there was no answer on the other end of the line, but as he continued listening, he realized that he was listening to the fruits of Thing 1’s labors. He realized that his plans for the evening would not result in such good fortune.

My own cell phone betrayal was less traumatic, but embarrassing nonetheless. I was invited to one of those Tupperware type parties for sex toys. It was my first one, so I was relieved when the hostess passed out the Jell-O shots. I helped myself to a few in a short time, so by the time the librarian-esque hostess began her spiel, I was well on my way to earning the title of “Most Obnoxious Guest Ever.” While I was heckling her with what I considered hilarious anal bead jokes and personal accounts of sex gone bad, my boyfriend had called my cell phone, or my cell phone called him, the details are sketchy, but the result was that my boyfriend listened to the entire interaction. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he put his phone on speaker so his dad could listen in as well. The next day, I was forced to break up with my boyfriend and change my identity.

Cell phones are supposed to help us feel connected, giving us a sense of security, but it comes with a price. This nifty device that sends steamy text messages to secret lovers, also provides recorded proof of their infidelity. Having access to someone’s online cell phone account means having real time knowledge of who they are talking to and when. It’s frightening how easy it is to piece together one’s every move just by searching their cell phone activity. Now, there are phones with GPS tracking systems, giving new meaning to the term “on a short leash.”

You can take it even further by exacting some crafty cell phone revenge. For example, one embittered divorcee secretly took her estranged husband’s sim card out of his phone, downloaded all of the information to her phone and put the sim card back. She was able to access all of his phone numbers, pictures and some old text messages. If you have access to someone’s online cell phone account, you can send text messages from their phone via the internet. Think of the possibilities. Or, you can change their account or download a lot of stuff. Of course, this is all very illegal.

We hear a lot of talk about technology interfering with our ability to connect in a personal way, but therein lies the irony. We are too connected. We have call-waiting, so we can interrupt one conversation to start another one. We can text, e-mail and talk on the phone, all at the same time. We are always within reach, whether we want to be or not. I’ve never been one to answer the phone just because it rings. I answer the phone when I choose to answer the phone. I guard my time and my solitude a little too much, but I refuse to let cell phones, e-mails, IMs, and text messages invade my life and my freedom. Conversely, I’m starting to think that ignorance is bliss. Having access to someone’s personal information is dangerous for everyone. My experience has been, if you look hard enough for evidence of dishonesty or foul play, eventually you’ll find it.

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