Here's the story of my phone:
I love my Blackberry. It's like technological crack. I am trying to keep my life organized inside its processors.
Last Thursday, we were supposed to go to a Chorus picnic. It was a Summer Pops donor party at the hall. Because I had rehearsal after the party, Leah took the boys in a separate car. I was rushing around trying to find the correct shirt (don't ask) and my music. I ended up going back inside the house before I started the car.
At some point in all of this, I placed my little Blueberry on the roof of my car.
And forgot it was there.
We live about 15 minutes from the Chorus hall. My phone bravely held on for about 10 of those minutes, with me driving around 40-50 mph. Thanks to the friction created by the blue, rubbery, shock-absorbing skin I put on it, my phone was like the Indiana Jones of Blackberry's, holding on to a fast moving vehicle for dear life.
I didn't realize that any of this had happened. When I woke up the next morning, I looked around the house and realized that something was amiss. Immediately, I began to retrace my steps, but couldn't think of where my poor little phone could be, because I remembered walking through the door after work and placing on the shelf like I always did.
I looked under all the furniture in the house. I tore through all the clothes in the bedroom. I cleaned my car!!!! It was at this point that I had to assume that I probably drove off with it on the roof, but I still couldn't remember when. So I went back to the grocery store parking lot and searched. I went to the bank and searched. All the way down the road to our house, I drove at a crawl, desperately trying to spot my poor phone.
During the afternoon on Friday, I sort of resigned myself to the fact that it was gone. I felt so empty inside. After work, we all piled into the van to drop off our blanket in the park to reserve our spot for the concert the next day. Bad luck just piled on me, as we found ourselves stuck in a traffic jam due to a bad car accident on the other side of the road. We were only 5 cars back, and could see multiple fire engines, police cars, and all sorts of other emergency vehicles. Eventually, we made it past, put down our blanket, and went home.
Sam and I went to T-Ball the next morning, phoneless again. When the game was over, Leah and I switched cars and I took the boys home. Before we parted ways, she looked at me laughing and said, "Call your cousin Josh. He knows where your phone is."
"What in God's name are you talking about," I asked.
"I don't understand the whole thing. Just call him," were my instructions.
So I called Josh as soon as we got home. Josh is a fire fighter in Little Compton, Rhode Island. He lives an hour away from us. There was no way that he knew where my phone was.
But no.
And here's how it goes:
My phone flipped off my car and shattered. The skin flew off. The back cracked away. The battery popped out. Just as any phone would do when flying off a car going 45 mph. The important thing is where.
My phone landed about 25 feet away from the car accident that we witnessed. While we were sitting in traffic waiting for the lanes to open up, one of the firemen who was walking the scene found all the pieces and reassembled it. What's more, it actually turned right back on - after sitting in broken pieces for over 24 hours! He just scrolled through my contacts until he saw my cousin, and gave him a call.
I picked up my phone, a little scratched but in perfect working order, Saturday afternoon. Apparently, quite a lot of people leave their phones on the roofs of their cars, because when I met him, he told me that he just assumed that's what had happened.
Bizarre, eh?
