Note: I don't want to analyze why I am posting two separate chapters on a story about my phone, while I have never done the same for any family member. It just happened that way.
I lost my phone this week, in the most inglorious way.
Dropped in the toilet, while I was about to go pee before getting the kids off to school. They were waiting for
me downstairs, bundled up in their snow gear, ready to go.
I had just sat down for a quick tinkle before heading out to the door, when I heard the ominous “plunk.” I
immediately knew what had happened. I jumped off the toilet,
pants still down, and saw it sunk deep down.
What came out of me was a
stranger's voice—the wail of someone grieving the loss of a loved one. Someone totally heartbroken.
“Nooooooo!” I cried, over and over.
Staring, shocked, at the toilet.
My husband was in the shower.
“Get it out! Get it out!' he yelled,
and his take-charge baritone snapped me to attention.
I plunged my hand in a bowl of lukewarm piss, trying hard not to think about it while I felt my way through
the clingy wads of toilet paper and fished it out.
I kept wailing the whole time.
I took it to the bathroom sink and
cleaned it under the faucet.
“No more water!” said my husband. He
was now out of the shower, toweled off and stark naked except for his
glasses. His expression was stern, on-task.
He barked a series of commands that I
clung to like a soldier on the front lines.
“Open the back! Take out your SIM
card! Take out the battery! Dry it off!”
He knew what to do! But I froze. I didn't know how to take off
the back. We both wrestled with it for a minute or so, but we
couldn't figure it out. (He's a Blackberry man, I had a Samsung.)
"I just thought the back didn't open," I said, my voice warbling and pathetic.
A deep sadness washed over me as I saw
how it was all going to play out. My husband had to get
dressed for work. I had to take the kids to school. I just didn't have the 10 minutes necessary
to go down a YouTube hole to find out how to open the back of my
phone.
Life goes on.
My phone was hot to the touch, the screen was black
with a sickening green tinge in the corners. The Samsung's death knell.
I left the bathroom, sniffling, and
immediately bumped into the little huddle that was my puffy-clothed kids, who had made their way upstairs to
see what happened to mom.
They had heard everything. Their faces
were grave. It was a rare moment of genuine empathy from them that I
shall cherish forever.
I do understand that crying over a phone is not the best example to set for my kids. But it happened that way.
“I think you should get a new phone
for your birthday,” the little one said. (My birthday isn't for
months.)
Their concern was so sweet. The kids, my
husband, everyone coming to my rescue. Even my friends--normally full of cutting sarcasm and pointed humor actually made an earnest effort to comfort me when I posted the news on Facebook.
"I've done that," said one friend.
"I jumped into a hot tub with my phone!" said another.
It made me realize what was
important in life. My family and friends--not a phone!
Yes, I just lost a
bunch of contact information because I never bothered to learn how to sync it to
my computer, and I won't immediately be able to keep reading my new
book, “The Distracted Mind,” on my reader.
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