“How did you get my number?” I typed as I stared at my phone in disbelief.
I was typing in response to a message I’d just received from a coworker. I was selective with who I gave my phone number to, so I know I hadn’t given it to him and forgotten about it. In fact, I didn’t think I’d shared my phone number with anyone from work, so I knew none of my other coworkers could have given it to him. I also doubted that management would have given him my phone number since there was no reason for him to contact me outside of work.
“I got it from the computer after you got your oil changed,” he replied. The computer he was referring to was one that we used to input customer information so that we could contact them if needed.
I immediately felt uncomfortable and would have blocked him, but my phone didn’t have that option. My male coworker who was texting me was old enough to be my father, and he’d used workplace resources to obtain my phone number. I realized that if he had my phone number, he could also have my address. I was living alone, so I walked downstairs and made sure the deadbolt was firmly in place.
I can still remember my heart pounding in my chest as I wondered if I should tell anyone that this man had my address, in case he came over. I’d suddenly gone from feeling safe in my apartment to feeling trapped within its walls. What gave him the right? Had he done this to other coworkers and customers?
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