The Case of the Missing Phone

(I almost titled this piece The Case of the Wayward Phone instead of the missing phone, but that would be prejudging the case and I want to give you the facts so you can decide for yourself.)



The saga began nearly a week ago when I returned home from a camping trip and sat on the porch with my phone and a glass of wine, giving each equal attention. I remember looking at the phone because it wasn’t responding to my commands. After a moment, I realized the phone was misbehaving because I had been away from home and my goldhorse WiFi system. My cell phone had been mostly--reliable but the friendly little machine wasn’t used to being absent from its favorite signal. After I realized the cause of the problem, I finished my wine and promptly forgot about my friend Sammy the Samsung smartphone.


My normal morning practice upon awakening is checking the weather forecast. I reached for Sammy on my nightstand, its usual resting place, only to feel the smooth mahogany texture sans telephone. “Strange,” I mumbled. Then I remembered. I had a job to do that demanded immediate attention.

I had agreed to assist with the county Hazardous Waste Program. I began hurrying; I was supposed to arrive at 8:00 AM at a location some thirty minutes distant, not counting the road closure that stood in the way of my journey. I climbed out of bed and made myself a cup of coffee, found my thermos, and finished the shaving ritual before running out the door. I was one of 30 volunteers and we gathered at the County Road Commission where we would ultimately collect, sort, and empty refuse from the trunks, trailers, and pick-up boxes of citizens who began lining up along the road anxiously awaiting their chance to deposit their unwanted waste. We volunteers were assigned to one of the various collection stations. My assignment was electronics – televisions, computers, keyboards, printers and other electronic devices including cell phones.


I spent the next five hours smiling and chatting up the citizenry as I helped unload and toss the unwanted detritus from our modern life into waiting gondolas and onto rapidly filling pallets. I must have handled several dozen old TV’s, scores of keyboards, and dozens of printers and copiers not to mention a host of cell phones all of which I ceremonially tossed into a large gondola. Helping me were two trustees from our local jail who seemed to enjoy the act of tossing formerly expensive hardware into the trash containers for recycling while secretly sharing an occasional forbidden smoke. 


I arrived home tired. I spent the next few hours resting before I assumed my normal routine that included checking e-mails on my phone. It suddenly struck me that I didn’t have my cell phone in my pocket, its normal place. I began searching for the missing gadget that I knew would turn up in one of the usual locations where I used it regularly. I looked high and low. It didn’t turn up.

My paternal instincts were aroused – where could the little fellow with all the buttons be hiding? With a mixture of regret and fear for my former friendly assistant, I went to the second level of investigation; I asked the wife if she had seen my phone. She began actively searching as well. We looked in the closet, the garden and all my normal hiding places but the phone was nowhere to be found.


The search went on the rest of the afternoon and evening to no avail. We took turns dialing the home phone and listening for the ring of the cell. It was deathly quiet. I went to bed disappointed. I had a restless night as I mentally calculated the odds that the phone might have fallen from my pocket and was then whisked away by a pal with travel connections. By morning I had determined the most likely sequence of events: my phone must have run away from home sometime after the frustration of not getting its normal WiFi signal. There was the answer, plain as day. I could just imagine my phone sitting some strange place with a bunch of other wayward phones, drinking, smoking and laughing uproariously at those of us who were suddenly phoneless, bereft of our calendars, appointments, and telephone messages.


I should have guessed the answer earlier from the signals I had received from the little devil – his habit of occasionally moving from my nightstand to the floor should have hinted at his deviant behavior. Just the week before last he managed to jump from my pocket to the floor of the truck for an afternoon of freedom doing God knows what.

So, there you have it. Don’t ever trust cell phones. Especially smart phones. They can turn against you in a moment. An old Indiana proverb from my mother comes to mind –'its too smart for its own good.’ And now you’ll understand if I haven’t returned your phone call or missed some important date as I ponder the wisdom of seeking another smartphone, hopefully one that remains in my pocket.