The excruciating fear of thinking, really & truly, you've lost your cell phone

There was a point, during "modern times," when many people in my life had cell phones and I did not. And it didn't bother me. Now my cell phone IS my phone, and not having it would be not unlike not having a computer. Unthinkable.

Today, for about 15 minutes, I had to consider the possibility that I had actually lost my telephone. It will be impossible for me to convey in a blog post just how that felt. And so I will thrill and delight you, instead, by telling you the stupid event that led to my believing that I was sans phone.

This morning some of my friends, along with my sister, were planning to have a yard sale. While I could probably stand to go to my storage unit and randomly remove about half my belongings, I did not bother to retrieve a single thing to sell at their morning's event. Having experienced 3 sequential bad sales a couple of years back, I'm generally loathe to put that much work into an event only to make a handful of dollars...which is what I'm always afraid I'm going to make. (Seeing as how I don't have lots of fun technological rejects to contribute, nor appliances, nor baby accoutrements.) But since these are my loved ones, and they would be not only juggling stuff and money and strangers, but also 3 children, ages 7 months - 5 years, I figured I'd show up and chip in the occasional hand.

For my efforts, I left today with free loot:

  • A 25 pound bag of unused clay,
  • Several old and/or broken beaded necklaces, which I can take apart so that the beads can be used when I teach my seniors' beading class next week,
  • A vacuum cleaner (I'd always meant to ask sis if she still had an extra one, which I'd always suspected she did,)
  • A plug-into-your-car-lighter adaptor which will supposedly allow you to use whatever device you wish, while driving your car.
  • A stack of cool CD's, including one of my missing Barenaked Ladies, from over 6 years ago when sis (with whom I had been roomies,) moved out. Thank you very much. I'm told her husband gathered the stack of music to be sent away. Hmph.
  • And a really nice guard rail thingie to go between the mattresses in case Mr. Pie or any other child ever sleeps in my bed. So he or she won't fall to the floor, thereby rendering me to blame for maiming someone's child...all because it was inconvenient for me to haul off that cool baby-protection device. All those with children in this gang have more than enough of these items, and it seems silly to give them away when it wouldn't hurt one bit for me to have one, what with it being free, and all. Then again, it's altogether possible that I should start looking around for a local chapter of PackRats Anonymous.

When it came time for us to all go our separate ways today after the yard sale / wild child extravaganza, I noticed the things in my purse were spilling out. I'm currently carrying a handbag that's much too small. One of those "pursey purses." So I noticed that adaptor thingie, grabbed it from my purse, stuffed it into the glove box, and started my car.

Moments later, I recalled that I was supposed to call a friend back to confirm plans for the social gathering I'm attending tonight. The one I'm going to be late to if I don't hurry up and wrap this up. So I opened my purse and discovered my phone was missing. Weird. I looked again. Maybe it was tucked in under the little notebook or stack of postcards for the Marshall Art Gallery August event. Nope. Wasn't there. So I parked the car again, and went back up to the house.

Inside, those who remained helped me look everywhere. On the kitchen counter where my purse had sat all day, under sofa cushions, on the floor, under furniture, and baby quilts, and behind the toilet (well you never know, what with Mr. Pie "getting into everything" these days,) outside in the yard. And try as I might, when I called it using the house phone there, I kept going straight to a voice mail system that wanted me to put in my number. A suggestion that made the disappearance of the phone feel that much more ominous.

I called sis, who was surely halfway home by now, with her sleepy cherub. If it had gotten in her purse, I had no doubt I was gonna' have to drive all the way to her house to retrieve it, as tired as those two were. Never mind...I'd do that, if it had been in her purse. Which it was not. Finally I had my friend check in her cell phone records to confirm that I was, indeed, calling the right number. Strangest thing of all, I was not. I was calling a number to check voice mail from years ago. The beginning digits were the same, and some of the number patterns similar, but it was decidedly not my number I was calling. (I so totally know my number. That was just weird. As was the realization that I'd perfectly recalled these other digits from so long ago.) So I called my phone again, and again, and kept walking around and around to see where I'd be standing if and when I heard it. Truthfully I was starting to fear it'd been accidentally tucked, inexplicably, into a box of yard sale merchandise and sent home with some stranger, never to be seen or heard from again.

Eventually I walked back out to my car, house phone in hand, and called again. Far away I finally heard a ring. Very far away. Of course you may have known all along, but I did not, so I'll tell those of you who haven't yet figured it out. The phone was in the glove box with that damned adaptor thingie. Where I'd shoved it when I'd grabbed the handful of black gadgets that were filling my purse so annoyingly.

And I wonder why I'm so tired all the time...