Slices of Life
Mastering the art of… phone location
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I don’t claim to be a master of many things. I’m rather more of a Jill of all trades.
I’m simply interested in everything, which stops me from being an expert in anything.
Except for maybe two things. I like to think I’m rather a master of words. I’ve always loved words - even as a young kid.
But this column isn’t about my excellent excelling with words. It’s about another area in which I perpetually shine.
It’s a rather specialized genre, which takes no time, talent or effort. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
It isn’t about creating, acquiring or even discovering new things. It’s about losing them.
To be more specific: I excel at losing my phone.
There, I said it out loud.
Now, losing my phone doesn’t really mean losing my phone, in the purest sense of the phrase. My phone isn’t really lost. In fact, it is always, or at least most often, nearby.
Misplaced would be a better term, because I’ve never really lost possession of my phone. I have, if I am being honest, simply put it somewhere and then two minutes later can’t remember quite where that somewhere might be.
I can lose my phone in a crowded room, but even more exceptionally, I can lose it in a room where I am sitting, on the couch, all by myself.
And that takes talent.
I think we can all agree on that.
Sometimes, when my phone is lost, I will find that I have been sitting on it.
Other times, it just blends in with the couch seat.
In the most egregious of instances, it has slid under a pillow.
There are many places besides a couch where a completely responsible and competent person can misplace a phone. (Although I’m sure you can’t personally relate.)
Sometimes I leave it on the counter in the bathroom (not anywhere near the toilet) or on the bed or on the kitchen island. I’ve even left it in my purse after a grocery shopping excursion.
I’ve also left it in the car a time or two. That’s a tricky one because when I lose my phone, I usually assume it is in the house. Going out into the garage is a last-ditch effort to engage location services.
I usually ask someone nearby to call me, but that tactic is often wrought with a lack of logic. It goes without saying that when I misplace my phone the ringer is always off, so when I ask someone to call me, all we can hope for is a vibrational buzz.
I’ve listened for that small, quiet buzz an embarrassing number of times. Too many to count.
And here’s the thing: I am not a lackadaisical user of my phone. I am quite dependent on it. I carry it with me wherever I go. It is almost like an extension of my own being.
Which only exacerbates the angst felt when I lose or (better put) misplace it.
I’m sure you can’t even begin to relate. Thank you for bearing with me in this confession regarding my lack of phone preservation skills.
And if you ever do call me, and I don’t answer… well, suffice to say you now understand why.
Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, published playwright and author. Don’t miss a slice; follow the Slices of Life page on Facebook.
