I HAD to bring my phone. (You may roll your eyes now.) I mean, I
knew it wouldn't work during our lay-over in Panama or in
Ecuador where we're vacationing for two weeks, but I just had to have
it. I mean, I might need to call someone urgently as we took off.
Or landed I might need to TALK.
Oh, you say, the phone wasn't the mistake. The mistake was the
ballet. Our tickets for Hemingway: The Sun Also Rises were for May
6, right smack dab in the middle of vacation. Not much makes us skip
an evening at the ballet, but sitting on the deck of a pontoon boat
in the middle of the Galapagos will do it. I happily found someone
who'd enjoy our tickets, and I was rewarded because the postcard came
in the mail saying that we could attend a working rehearsal for
Hemingway. Dilemma: the rehearsal was the night before vacation.
Well, what the heck, we went anyway.
Here's the thing, though. I try to be very organized, but being out
until 11:00 PM the night before you go on vacation can cramp your
style. Already tired, we landed in the 9,000 foot altitude of Quito tired and disoriented. We couldn't find the camera. Really? We're
headed to the Amazon and the Galapagos and somehow forgot to pack the
camera?!! Then I saw that my phone had turned itself on. Perhaps
it had been on the entire flight, and I was lucky the sky marshals
hadn't packed me off to jail.
Anyway, I turned my phone off and stashed it in my suitcase. The
next time we had a minute to call (heh, heh, I made a pun) our own, I
couldn't remember where I'd put it. Where, oh, where? It didn't
matter anyway, right?? I mean, I couldn't use the thing. It was in
the room – somewhere – and would doubtless turn up in its own
good tie
Off the group went to an indigenous culture museum and dinner. Back
to the hotel, and at 9:00, Steve was out cold ,and I was happily
reading myself to sleep. If you've read my previous post about the
smoke alarm, this story will strike a rather familiar note (heh, heh,
another one). Deedle-deep!
What? What? What was that?
Silence. I settle back into the depths of my Kindle.
9:10:
Deedle-deep! Damn, damn, damn! Steve's left his i-pad on, and it's
making those silly noises. I get up and pad around the room. Where
is it? I don't see it anywhere. It's not in his small bag packed
for our stay in the Amazon. It's not on the desk. It's not on the
table, It's not in bed with him. *sigh*
Maybe I won't hear it again. Maybe I imagined it (yeah, right).
Maybe it won't wake me up when I go to sleep. Back to my book.
9:15: I'm really sleepy. Deedle deep! Why always in the middle of
the night? Why me? Why, for heavens sakes, me? I wake up Steve. He
stumbles to his i-pod, says the sound is already off and turns goes
back to sleep. Deelde-deep!
No! No, no, no!
It comes to me in a flash. It's my phone! Sure, it does seem to
have a secret life of its own and will sometimes make calls without
my knowledge, but never before has it turned itself on. If I don't
turn it off, it will continue to nag me with its useless presence ALL
NIGHT LONG!
I drag my suitcase to the bed and open it up. DEEDLE DEEP! The
louder sound tells me I'm warm. I've already taken everyone out of
the suitcase twice looking for that dratted phone. I remove
everything again. A third I put on the bed, a third on the desk, and
a third stays in the suitcase which I put outside the bathroom door.
I sit down miserably and wait. DEEDLE DEEP It's still coming from
the suitcase. I lug the thing up onto the bed and remove the
remaining clothes. No phone. I am somewhere between a foot-stomping
tantrum and tears.
By this time, Steve is awake and says, “Do you want me to find it?”
“Yes!”
He lifts out the remaining few things: the hiking shoes, the snorkel
and the walking stick (sure, my phone's going to hide underneath a
collapsed walking stick). There's nothing left but the lining and
another DEEDLE-DEEP!
“Check
the pockets”
“I've
checked the pockets five times!” I pull everything out of the
pockets including the money pouch for, you know, valuables. I look
at it. “I bet I put it in here!”
“I
think you told me that.”
I un-zip the pouch, and there's my phone, lying there innocently with
it's little face shining and it's battery bank empty.
I plug it in and charge it all night long because, you know, I can't
call anybody, and in the morning, I pack it safely where anybody
would: in my shoe.
I found it, but it won't work anyway, so don't call me, and I won't call
you.
