My phone! My phone! It’s gone!
It was one of those days. My first husband and I had just returned from a funeral and hung our ‘good’ coats in the back of our respective closets.
He headed towards his office, and then stopped in his tracks… ‘my phone!’ he moaned. He does the majority of his business on his iphone. A recent convert to everything mac, his iphone has become his lifeline… literally. He went back and checked his coat. Nope.
And then it began.
“Don’t worry,” I soothed. “You’ve password protected it, right?” I can’t describe that look that comes over a spouse’s face when they really don’t want you to see an admission that they dropped the ball on an important item.
“Well,” I continued, “you put your business card in between the case and the phone in case a nice person finds it, didn’t you?” The face, again.
“Let’s just call it… maybe it’s here!” I’m a well of enthusiasm at the beginning of these things. “It’s on vibrate,” he responded.
“Well, honey, it’s okay. You bought that $109 apple guarantee to replace your phone for its entire life no matter how you lose it, didn’t you?” Face again.
Okay, now I’m not feeling so sympathetic.
He got in the car and drove over to the hospital where he’d had an MRI on his knee before the funeral. “I distinctly remember putting it up on a cabinet before climbing on the mri table,” he announced. He paid the parking fee and came back 45 minutes later… glum! In the meantime, he could be missing work calls and opportunity.
“There’s got to be help,” he said, dialing the cell number of our daughter. She zoomed over to her dad’s rescue and went to the icloud, punched in his cell number and up came a gps map showing the location of where his phone was at that moment. We read out our own address and looked at our own house on Google maps..
“Maybe it’s in the snow in the backyard,” he mused, grabbing a rake from the garage…Snow? Backyard? Were you in the backyard today, I wondered.
I turned back to Kid Two and asked her to show me this icloud thing… how do I get there, what do I select to look for the phone. I punched in his cell number. Sure enough, our address and street were right there on Google maps. The only thing it didn’t show was First Husband in the backyard… raking!
“I’m going to try my phone,” I announced, keen at this new discovery. And sure, enough, the Google map of our street came up again, with our house dead centre. Makes sense since my phone was on the desk behind me.
“And what’s this button?” I asked, clicking on a locator sound. My phone started to sound like a fire engine, squealing loudly. I turned it to vibrate and clicked the locator sound again. And still, it squealed.
“Okay then, let’s try this on your dad’s phone.” She was at the window, watching him rake the snow. I entered his number and clicked the locator siren button. Faintly, faintly we could hear a sound. She ran downstairs. I ran to the living room. I ran to the back bedroom where First Husband owns the closet and dresser. Faintly, faintly, siren sound. I opened the closet door. Faintly, faintly, siren. I went to the back of the closet. I put my hand into the pocket of the funeral coat.
That’s what you get for taking your phone to a funeral!