Where’s My Phone?

Have you ever lost your mobile phone? You know you have; I don’t know why I’m even asking! Sure, you may have just left it in the dining room and then forgot about it. I’ve done that a million times. But I’m talking about losing your phone when you’re away from home. Have you ever done that?

I can tell you that I have done it – at least two times that I recall. When I realized I didn’t have my phone, I felt a huge rock drop to the bottom of my stomach. Dread encased my otherwise charming personality. “Oh, my God,” became my forever repeated mantra. If you’ve ever lost your phone when you’ve been out, you know what I’m talking about.

—   —   —

It’s late on a Sunday afternoon and my husband Pat, daughter Meghan and I are at Crossroads, a little outdoor shopping complex in Carmel, California. After we’re done looking in most of the shops that are still open, Meghan and I head to the women’s restroom that we passed a few minutes ago. We’re going to relieve ourselves before we start the thirty-minute drive back home.

Our hands washed and dried, Meghan and I return to our car where Pat is waiting.

It’s not until I reach for my back pocket to remove my phone before I sit in the car that I realize my phone is not there. Panic. Immediate and acute.

“Jill,” Pat says in an admonishing tone. He doesn’t need to chide me, I’m doing a pretty decent job of it myself, inside my head. I can tell by Pat’s tone that he doesn’t think I’m mature enough to have an iPhone. Truth be told, maybe I’m not. This now-missing iPhone of mine is brand new – literally. We bought it yesterday at the Verizon store. It replaced the Android phone I had had for years.

“Where do you last remember having it?” Pat asks, unnecessarily.

“Crap, crap, crap!” I repeat. Not one to explain my actions when I’m in distress, I leave Meghan with Pat while I rush back to the bathroom.

—   —   —

I’m going to digress a minute, which, if you read my blog regularly, you know I do fairly often. In fact, I may have a problem with maintaining my focus. Maybe I have adult Attention Deficit Disorder. I’ll look into it later, if I remember. Wait a minute. I seem to have digressed from my digression.

Anyway, I can’t tell you how many pairs of reading glasses I’ve lost over the past five years. More than ten. Some have just been misplaced and I find them a few days later, somewhere in the house. Other times, though, I’ve left them somewhere never to be seen again.

While I was writing this essay, I started to think of all my friends and family who have died, and who, I assume, are currently residing in Heaven. Then I began wondering if maybe their souls are looking down at me and my life as though watching a movie. And every time I put my glasses down and walk away without them, they’re shouting at my deaf ears, “Get your glasses! Don’t forget your glasses” “Look to the left!” “They’re right there, you idiot!” “Don’t put your glasses there, you’ll forget them!”

If anyone is up there watching me, they’ve got to be thoroughly frustrated with me. Then I started thinking that maybe my deceased loved ones aren’t in Heaven after all. I can’t imagine that frustration and impatience are emotions you’d experience in Heaven. Perhaps these watchers are in Purgatory, then. Earning their stripes. Maybe by losing my glasses all the time, I am responsible for graduating droves of friends and family into Heaven. That’s a nice thought. I think I’ll keep it. Without me, these folks may never get out of Purgatory.

—   —   —

Back to my story.

I often carry my cell phone in the back pocket of my jeans. When I go to the bathroom, I know (now) that I have to remove my phone before I pull down my pants. In public bathroom stalls, there’s rarely a place to lie your phone while you use the toilet, so I’ve gotten into the habit of placing my phone on top of the toilet paper dispenser. I know. It doesn’t sound very hygienic. But I don’t want to hold it while I’m peeing.        

So, the last place I remember seeing my phone was on top of the toilet paper dispenser where I put it when I went to the bathroom. It’s been less than five minutes since I left my phone in the bathroom. Now I am back at the scene, with Meghan close on my heels.

My phone is not here. Shit! The two of us search every stall and around the sink. No phone. Come on! I was only gone five minutes!

With Meghan right behind me and Pat following close behind her, I start going into shops, many of which are beginning to close for the day. I ask shopkeepers whether anyone has turned in a phone. No luck. One person suggests that I try the management office, but of course, she has no idea where the management office is.

Then Pat remembers that we have my iPad in the car and last night we discovered there’s a “Find My Phone” feature which should give me a map to where my iPhone is! We hurry back to the car. And, iPad in hand, we find an icon indicating where my phone is. We see that it’s within walking distance. We follow the map to a fairly well-hidden office behind one of the stores. There is a small, obscure door sign that reads, “Management.” They apparently do not want to be bothered or they would have made their location more visible.

Pat goes into the office and comes back out a few minutes later with my phone in hand. Relief! Without the “Find My Phone” feature offered by Apple, I wonder if I would have ever been reunited with my phone.

—   —   —

Skip ahead a year or two. My high school girlfriends and I are in Nashville, celebrating our 42-plus years of friendship. I am the first to leave our Airbnb condo. I have an early flight back to California. Yesterday, my friend Mishka helped me set up an account with both Uber and Lyft and I’ve scheduled a 5:45 am pick-up with one of them. The driver arrives on time and I hug all of my still-pajamaed friends who have gotten up early to see me off.

The driver is a nice, young guy. He tells me how he followed his girlfriend out to Nashville where she is going to nursing school. It’s my first solo trip with one of these rent-a-drivers and my experience is a positive one. The driver helps unload my suitcase from the trunk and he’s off.

I turn to see my airline’s ticketing desk is directly in front of me. Yippee!

There’s a bit of a line so, as I settle at the end of it, I grab for the cell phone in my back pocket to check the time. And… What?! Shit! Where is my phone?! Crap! Crap! Crap! Desperate, I do a rapid search of my backpack. No luck. My fingers grope through my butt bag which I have stashed in my backpack. Again, no luck.

Shit! Damnit! Fuck! Crap! What did I do with it? I had it in the car. What should I do? Can I maybe catch my driver? I must have dropped it in his car. Why am I always such an idiot?!

I retrace my steps to the airport entrance, tugging my suitcase along, my open backpack slung over my right shoulder, scanning the floor for my estranged iPhone. Back on the sidewalk I immediately see that my driver and his car are long gone. Not without hope, I wait two or three ticks thinking he’ll spot my phone in his backseat and circle back around, knowing I’ll be here waiting. After four ticks, I know he’s not coming back.

But wait! I have “Find Your Phone” on my iPad. I sit my backpack on top of my suitcase and wrestle out my iPad. Now, how do you find the “Find Your Phone” feature? I waste three minutes trying to find out how to turn it on. I waste at least three more minutes trying to figure out where I am on the app’s map. Aha! There I am! I see an icon move as I’m walking back inside the airport. That’s me!

Okay, now to locate my phone. The icon for my phone looks like it is very close to where I’m standing. Whew! That means it’s not in the car. I look on the ground all around me. By now I am so anxious I’m sweating. Maybe someone has picked it up off the floor and delivered it to Lost & Found. After all, it only took a woman five minutes to turn in my phone in Carmel. The Lost & Found must be nearby because my phone is nearby…

I don’t see any signage for Lost & Found but I do see a man walking in my direction and he’s wearing a uniform that looks official. Maybe it’s an airport uniform. If he works for the airport, he’ll know where the Lost & Found is.

“Excuse me,” I say as I approach him. “Can you help me? I’ve lost my phone and my iPad says it’s here in the airport. Do you know where the Lost & Found is?” I’m talking fast so I think the man doesn’t understand me because he regards me with a rather blank look.

“I hear a beeping,” he says. What’s that supposed to mean? Is he schizophrenic, hearing noises that aren’t there? I’ve apparently approached the wrong stranger for help.

In response to my bewildered look, the man repeats himself, this time with a nod toward my backpack. “I hear a beeping.”

Wait a minute. I do hear something. A very faint noise coming from my backpack. While the man stands there, I conduct another mad search of my backpack, and, sure enough, there is my damn phone. Why I didn’t find it during my first search is immaterial right now, because at this moment in time, I am in the process of making a complete ass of myself.

“I’m an ass,” I declare. The man begins walking away before I finish saying, “Thank you.”

I really have to get better at this. Especially if I plan on losing my phone in the future. I can at least practice with the “Find Your Phone” app, maybe by creating a hide-and-seek type of game with Meghan where she can hide my phone and I have to find it within a certain time frame. But what about the glasses I lose? My missing credit card and day planner? My lost memories? How do I find all of them?