So today I lost my mobile phone. Well actually I lost it yesterday but I did not realise until today. This would never have happened if I had been wearing jeans but hey that’s the downside of linen trousers. They may be cooler but they don’t have the requisite back pocket for phone insertion.
I got back from the school run this morning and it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked my phone in a while. And then I couldn’t find it. So I rang it and listened to the deathly silence. Then my brain clunked round and I remembered that it was low on battery. Oh and on silent. Because I was at a concert yesterday evening. Oh and I recall now it was low on battery as I had been filming my son singing. And then I remembered I had put it on the hymn book shelf in front of my pew. Next to my son’s water bottle. And then I recalled thinking to myself ‘I mustn’t forget that phone, really it is a silly place to store it, it is quite hidden there, between the kneelers’….
And then I retraced my movements at the end of the concert and realised I had left it exactly in that silly place. Nestled, low on battery and alone, on it’s vibrate mode.
And then I felt sick. Literally.
Panic set in. I am not really wedded to my phone. I do not usually use it for email or Facebook. In fact I only really set myself up properly on it when I had those problems with my land line and Internet when I was moving house. I had recently downloaded all the photos so the only lost footage was of that concert.
But, and it’s a big but, I have no record of all my stored phone numbers. When I dropped my last phone and smashed it I learnt a valuable SIM versus phone memory lesson and now all my contacts are on both handset and SIM. That doesn’t help when you lose both. Getting all those numbers back would take ages. And ages. Let alone the possibility that someone may have needed me this morning. Like my kids’ school. Or a friend with a coffee emergency.
So I decided to breathe into a paper bag to calm down and think about how to retrieve it.
The phone was locked in a church. In a small rural village a few miles away. I searched the web and found the names of two church wardens along with contact numbers. The first wasn’t in but the second answered and was just off to the church. After I had described my seating position as accurately as possible she promised to have a good look. And also did I own the bag of music left behind? Er, no, admittedly my ‘not forgetting things’ credentials are slightly dented here but I am not that bad…
She would call me back either way but not until lunchtime when she returned from her various church ‘wardeny’ duties.
I called hubby to alert him. In case he needed me, texted and then got no response, and got worried or angry, actually probably the latter. He didn’t answer his phone. But he called back later to see if I was OK and I explained the situation. He thought I should contact my mobile provider in case someone had purloined the phone and was running up a bill calling sex lines in Nigeria… I thought it unlikely….the phone being locked in a rural church in Middle England. So I decided to take the risk and wait for my lovely lady to call me back.
I spent the rest of the morning feeling slightly bereft. As if someone had cut off my left arm. I went to a meeting, started slightly at the sign asking me to switch my mobile to silent, rub it in why don’t you?, and lept every time the land line rang. Simon from an Energy Conservation group got short shrift. Shorter than usual…
Eventually just as I had decided to turn on the tennis, update my friends on Facebook and eat salad the phone did ring and my church warden was on the line. She had the phone! A miracle had occurred. Akin to loaves and fishes in my mind.
She wondered if she could send the phone into my son’s school the next day with the lady from the congregation who had organised the concert. I had a flash of how this might go. The worried look on eldest’s face as he gained possession of a mobile device strictly prohibited in school except for those on buses. Of which he is not one. And so I enquired if I could drive over to collect my device. The friendly church lady was ‘turning on a sixpence’, a phrase I have only heard in relation to small cars, so I promised to jump in my car and head straight over. She described her house’s location. She said I could ring on route if I got stuck…hmmm not really.
Anyhow I found the house. She didn’t immediately hear my knocking but my increasing desperation finally roused her. And, after some basic security checks as she wanted to be careful, I was reunited with my phone.
And what a moment it was. Relief. Happiness. Overwhelming gratefulness to the lovely church lady. A feeling of completeness.
Disappointingly there were only three missed texts. One from my husband replying to my message, one from Sky with my latest bill, and one from my ironing lady. So maybe I am not indispensable then…
But, how exciting, there were two missed calls. No one ever actually calls….quick check the log…my children may be in need… Oh….that’s right… those missed calls will be me trying to find the phone earlier….
Still doing that….
So my phone and I drove happily home. And I changed into jeans and inserted it into my back pocket.
All was right with the world.
Disclaimer….the picture above is not of my arse…. shame…