This week, I hung up on someone four minutes into a call. I’ve spent some time thinking about it: Not because I regret it, but because it revealed something I hadn’t fully put a name on before.
How It Started
We met at a business event. Normal stuff. He seemed sharp, we had a decent conversation, and before we parted ways, he asked if we could hop on a follow-up call. I said sure. I’m always open to learning about people and what they’re building — that’s half the reason I go to these events in the first place: to meet people and learn all about them. And, FYI, I prefer the “after event” calls because I can hear better and invest my full concentration.
A few days later, we got on the call. Nothing unusual at first. Some small talk, a bit of context-setting. Then, a couple of minutes in, I noticed a third screen that said “podcast.”
So I asked: “Are you recording this call?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah! Why? Does that bother you?”
I told him I thought that was strange, and that I was going to end the call. And I did.
Why It Bothered Me
It wasn’t the recording itself. Plenty of people record calls across a variety of industries — for notes, for training, for auditioning, for CRM purposes. “Recording” is not the issue. The issue was everything around it: He didn’t tell me before we started that he hit record. He didn’t ask. And when I caught it and asked directly, his response wasn’t an explanation or an apology — it was a mild challenge, as if the burden was now on me to justify why it seemed very inappropriate and mattered.
That’s the part that stuck with me. “Does that bother you?” is NOT a neutral question as it relates to that moment. It reframes the conversation. Instead of him owning the fact that he skipped a basic courtesy, I was suddenly asked to defend my own discomfort — on a call I hadn’t agreed to have recorded, with someone I’d spoken to for all of five minutes at a networking event.
The Real Issue Is Consent, Not Recording
Recording a call isn’t inherently sketchy. But transparency about it shows professionalism and more. Saying, “Hey, do you mind if I record this?” Is essential to building even an infinitesimal form of of trust and respect.
The absence of that ask? Wow. That tells me something MAJOR — and you, too, if you’re reading this. Either he didn’t think it mattered, or he didn’t want me to have the option to say “No.” Neither is a great look.
And this is where I think a lot of us get tripped up in both personal and business settings: We’ve been socialized and trained to give people the benefit of the doubt, especially early on, especially when they seem nice, especially when saying something feels awkward. But here’s the essential differentiator: “seems nice” and “is trustworthy” aren’t the same thing. One is a vibe. The other is demonstrated through small, unglamorous behaviors — like whether someone tells you they’re recording you.
Trusting the Small Signal
I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, that the small moments are the real “data” (for you techies) or information (for us other mortals) that reveals trustworthiness. Not the pitch, not the charm, not how good someone is at building rapport in the first ten minutes. The real signal is in what they do when they think you’re not paying close attention. Do they ask before doing something that affects you? Do they own it when you notice? Or do they turn it back on you?
He failed that test in under five minutes. So, I ended the call. And, I won’t pick it up again. Harsh, maybe, but a strong gut feeling.
The Non-Apology That Confirmed It
After I hung up, he texted: “I’m so sorry that my recording device caused you a disturbance.”
Read that sentence again, s l o w l y. It has the shape of an apology — the word “sorry” is right there — but look at what’s actually being apologized for. Not for failing to disclose the recording. Not for the discomfort of being challenged and getting defensive instead of accountable. He apologized for his device causing me a disturbance, as if a piece of hardware had malfunctioned and mildly inconvenienced me, like a dropped call or a bad Wi-Fi connection.
This is a classic non-apology, and once you see the pattern, you can’t unsee it. The responsibility gets quietly relocated from the person to the object. “My recording device” becomes the subject of the sentence, not “I recorded you without asking.” And “disturbance” is doing a lot of work too — it’s a word for a minor, faceless annoyance, not for a legitimate reaction to being recorded without consent. It subtly recasts my response as an overreaction to a technical hiccup, rather than a reasonable objection to his choice.
That message didn’t walk anything back. It confirmed exactly what I’d picked up on during the call: No ownership. No acknowledgment of the actual issue. Instead, just a redirection dressed up as remorse. If anything, it was more revealing than the call itself, because he had time to think about it and still landed on blaming the device instead of naming his own behavior.
This Isn’t Just About Phone Calls Anymore
This whole episode has made me think about where else this pattern is quietly showing up — and it’s more relevant than ever with devices like Meta’s Ray-Ban smart glasses now in the wild. Someone can be recording video or audio of you in person, mid-conversation, at a coffee shop or a networking event or even in a gym locker room — without you having any obvious way to know. There’s no phone visibly propped up, no laptop with a red recording light — just a normal-looking pair of glasses.
If disclosure matters on a phone call, it matters at least as much in person. In fact make that to the 100th exponential. If you’re wearing a device capable of recording someone, the burden is on you to say so before the conversation starts, not to wait and see if you get caught, and definitely not to get defensive if someone notices and asks. “Hey, just so you know, these glasses can record — I’m not right now, but wanted you to know” costs a sentence. Seconds. Skipping it isn’t a technicality. It’s the same choice my caller made, just delivered via excusing a wearable.
As these recording technologies becomes more common, I think the standard needs to become common too: If you can record someone, you tell them, upfront, before you need to. Not after they ask. Not after they catch you. And if they push back, the answer isn’t to make them feel like the unreasonable one — it’s to say, “You’re right, I should have told you,” and mean it.
The Takeaway
I’m not writing this to dunk on the guy — for all I know, this is standard practice at whatever sales org trained him, and he genuinely didn’t think twice about it. AND, that’s actually the more unsettling possibility: That this has become normalized somewhere. And, I’ll also say, for full disclosure, he did actually email again, 24 hours later, apologizing more directly for not requesting my permission prior to recording.
Whatever underlies this or not, it’s not something I’m going to quietly accept. If a stranger wants to record a conversation with me, the ask costs them nothing, and it tells me a lot. And if they skip it — and then get defensive when I notice — that’s not a bother. That’s important information.
I hung up not because I have something to hide. I hung up because how someone treats consent in a small, low-stakes moment is usually a preview of how they’ll treat it in a bigger one. Having spent a career advising executives on full and fair disclosure, I’ve come to believe it’s a very important part of any private or public conversation.
I’ll close with a parting thought: My Mother was actually a pretty cool woman. I did not always understand her — yet, I learned a lot from her right to her last dignified breath at 90. But while we were growing up, if any of us 5 kids wanted to get her torqued and watch the wrath of her rare anger go from 0 to 6 in under two seconds — it was what she called catching us in “a lie by omission.” Now that I’m at the end of this post, I realize that is the summation of the issue.
If something here resonates in this article or maybe with a decision, relationship, or situation you’re navigating, I’m always open to a confidential conversation. Learn more at DianGriesel.com
Photo credit: Mahdi Bafande via Unsplash
