I lost my iPhone tonight. Again.
I lost my last one over Thanksgiving. I got drunk with the cousins (had a ton of fun), left it in the bathroom, and walked away. Half an hour later I remembered, went back, and it was gone. I tracked it with MobileMe the next day, and set off to find it. I heard the alarm go off once before whomever stole it turned it off or removed the SIM card. So infuriating. I can’t believe there are people who exist who wouldn’t return a phone.
So tonight, Ballerina Friend was picking me up near her new place (she moved in with Treehouse Friend in a place they bought together. How crazy is that?!). I was sitting on the curb behind my car, just playing my ukulele to pass the time with my phone sitting under my uke case. She pulled up, I grabbed my uke case, stepped into her car, and drove away. I saw the new place (super cool!), walked back to the car (from the wrong direction to see the phone if it was still there), and drove home, at which point I realized what I had done. I immediately tore through my purse, raced downstairs, did a quick search for my phone in the car, drove back to the curb, and then the panic set in.
I came home to do the desperate MobileMe dance, and drove to where it said my phone had been kidnapped. No dice: I couldn’t get a wireless signal to set off the phone’s alarm, so I couldn’t figure out where it was.
But there’s a police station not a block away from where my poor phone was being held hostage (imagine how frightened it was), so I popped in with my laptop, explained the situation to a cute Asian LAPD officer (I’m a sucker for uniforms), and was handed off to a very nice white cop who said he would get his car ready, and we would go. After about twenty minutes, he came back and we came up with a game plan. We would go to a nearby Starbucks to get free wifi so I could update the location of the phone in case it had moved, then go after it. Of course, we forgot that it was past 11pm and the Starbucks would be closed, but luckily a nearby business unknowingly obliged, and we discovered that the phone had stopped updating, which could only mean that they had turned it off, or removed the SIM card. In short, they had no intention of returning it.
My heart sank. I showed the cop the last known location on the Google map. He said he would check it out, and meet me back at the station.
I drove back to the station slowly and sat on the short blue bench, waiting for the cop to return empty-handed. Ten minutes passed. I saw movement through the glass doors. I looked up to see the cop, and in his hand was my phone, still in its case.
My eyes popped out of my head while I smiled and blurted out, “NO. WAY.” I couldn’t believe it. He said the person who gave it to him said that his kid had found it and removed the SIM card (yeah, right). What an asshole. But seriously, who cares. The expensive part is back in my hand, so I can’t complain too much.
May the Flying Spaghetti Monster reach down and touch that police station with his noodly appendage. Seriously. All those shining stars bless the LAPD. Just sitting in that lobby, listening to the calls the cute Asian cop was getting was exhausting and depressing. I can’t imagine dealing with that night after night, year after year, when I could be cultivating friendships, making love with my deamboat Boyfriend, spending time on the beach eating watermelon and playing ukulele with friends and getting a light sunburn (guess what I did on Memorial Day). All you shining stars, bless those cops.
What crazy about this is I haven’t felt this good, this excited about something in a really, really long time. I went to Disneyland with Boyfriend, and felt next to nothing, which scared me. I’ve been numb for a while now, and I can’t figure out why. It’s not to say I don’t enjoy myself. I had a great time at the beach yesterday, I love play ukulele, I have great sex with boyfriend. But this was… a sense of how a little luck can just make my day. I put work in, good things come out, this standard (and good, but I’ve grown too used to it I think). Here was a small-ish problem in the greater scheme of things that would have tainted my trip abroad (I leave day after tomorrow), and it turned out so much better than I dared hope that I feel rebooted. I’m too comfortable with my beautiful life. A change of perspective is in order.
While I was at the station, three generations of the same family came in (boy, father, grandfather) to report that the 19 (?) year old boy had been hugged and kissed against his will by the grandfather’s caregiver. The father gave the report, while the boy kept saying stuff like, “I feel like I’ve lost my manhood. I told him what he did was wrong, and that he had to leave.” The whole thing had sort of a smell to it. The grandfather had a very obvious toupee. At age 91, I hope I don’t care so much about my appearance that I feel the need to wear something silly. I haven’t had that tendency yet, so I think I’ll dodge that compulsion with any luck