What are the worst five words in the English language? I thank you would be at a loss to find any more terrifying than “I can’t find my phone!”
I first heard that phrase a few years ago. Barb was opening every drawer and cabinet and poking behind every chair and sofa in search of her missing iPhone. I joined in the hunt, finally suggesting we see if we could locate it with the FindMyiPhone app on Barb’s iPad. (Yes, we are an Apple family.) We found the app on the tablet — a 10-minute search in itself) — pressed the button and waited to see what the app could tell us.
In a minute or so we had a location. The app was telling us Barb’s phone was at the entrance to our subdivision, where our local access road intersected the main thoroughfare. Barb was puzzled and unbelieving. “How could it get there?” she questioned. “It must be a false signal.”
I pulled Barb out of the house and we took the short walk to the spot the app appeared to be indicated. We stood on the sidewalk, and as Barb had predicted, no phone.
I looked into the intersection and saw something sparkle. As soon as the light was green, I sprinted down the crosswalk and retrieved Barb’s phone, cracked but still broadcasting its “Find Me” signal.
How did the phone wind up in the middle of an intersection? The most likely scenario–earlier in the day Barb had probably laid the phone on her car hood before going driving on a short errand. The valiant phone clung to the car before spinning to the pavement when Barb made a hard right turn to leave the subdivision. My first case was solved.
My next two lost phone incidents both occurred recently, and both in airports. Airports thousands of miles apart.
The first was about a month ago. Barb’s friend and high school classmate (we’ll call her Wendy) was arriving at O’Hare Airport from California to attend their high school reunion. Barb was volunteering at Lake Forest Hospital that afternoon; I was the designated pick-up driver.
I pulled up to the airport just as Wendy started texting me that she had landed and would be ready to be picked up shortly at Terminal Two. In the intervening minutes, Wendy also got a text from her husband Bill back on the West Coast. He had COVID! Distraught with Bill’s news, Wendy greeted me with a “No Hugs” warning and slid into the car.
We were just driving past Terminal Three when Wendy uttered those awful words. “Les, I can’t find my phone!”
With a hard pull to the left, I turned into the recirculating lane for a loop back through the airport. Despite Wendy’s urging to “Go faster” and “Don’t stop at that red light,” I kept my cool. Even so, it couldn’t have been more than 3 minutes before we were are the spot where I had picked up Wendy. She leaped out of the car, searched the curb, and held up her hand, triumphantly showing me her phone.
But I still didn’t get a hug.
Now let’s travel to our flight last week from Warsaw to Krakow. The Lot Airline hostess glowered at Barb and told her “You must put your little purse under the seat in front of you for takeoff. You must do it immediately while I stare at you and make you feel extremely uncomfortable.”
Barb scrambled to accommodate and the purse wound up under the seat in front of me. Two hours later we were in an Uber leaving the Krakow Airport when Barb reached into that little purse and said “I can’t find my phone! I’m sure it fell out of my purse when SHE made me stick it under the seat.”
This time it was the Uber driver who made the airport recirculation drive. and directed us to the Information Booth. The attendant there sent us to the Lost Luggage station. Barb picked up the connecting phone and spoke to a second attendant.
“I left my gold iPhone on the plane from Warsaw. It has a picture of a couple with two grandchildren.”
“Yes, we have it. I will bring it to you in a moment.”
It was the attendant who got a hug.
How about you? Are you a finder of lost phones? Let me hear about it at chidoc@post.com
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