Everyone knows that my cell phone and I are as attached as these two ladies. Basically, my beloved cell phone is an extension of me. That said, on Saturday, May 31st, something really bad happened to me.
But this story doesn't start with Saturday. It started months ago when my mom and I were enjoying dinner at Burgers & Cupcakes in NYC. As we sat there talking, a group of young, happy people walked jovially out of the restaurant. One girl was just so happy to be alive, without a care in the world. She was so happy, in fact, that she dropped her jacket without noticing and continued to trot out of B&C. I got up, picked up the jacket, and called after the trotting ball of happiness. I had to shout "Miss!" about 7 times before she noticed I was calling her name. She was just that caught up in her happiness.. That girl was so happy that she lost something.
After that happened, I realized that that very experience was the exact reason why I feel anxious when everything is going right in my life. I'm always afraid that I will get too happy and like that girl, I will drop my proverbial jacket and something bad will happen. Last week, however, I finally decided that I was going to stop living in fear of 'dropping my jacket' and enjoy life. I was going to allow myself to be happy, and trust that nothing bad would happen.
Bad move. Back to my phone.
Saturday morning, at 6:30am, I grabbed my carefully and thoughtfully packed carry-on, my purse, and my cell phone, and crept out of my apartment so as not to wake my roommate. It only took me about a minute to hail a yellow cab, bit I should have known that the day was going to be bad the moment I banged the side of my head right on the door of the cab on my way in... Instead, I wiped the tears eyes and returned to my jovial mood.
During the cab ride to LaGuardia, I took a moment to further organize my purse before braving airport security, and even dabbed a little make-up on my face so I wouldn't feel like a total zombie. We reached LGA and I paid the cab driver, grabbed my bags, and walked into the airport. After I completed my self check-in, I dug into my purse to feel around for my cell phone. I reached into the pocket where I usually keep my baby, and it wasn't there. I then emptied the contents of my (extremely large) purse onto the airport floor, and I still didn't find my cell phone. I realize then that I must have left my darling cellie in the cab that has long since driven off. The horror!!!!!
At this point, I'm not panicking. I walk up to an airport employee, and he suggests that I go to the airport's taxi stand outside, and that they will help me track down my phone. I book it down to the taxi stand, and when I tell the guy working at the stand what's going on, he starts asking me all of these questions like when and where I was picked up, when and where I was dropped off, what kind of phone it is, and what the cab driver looked like. Homeboy is taking notes the entire time, and when he's done he tells me to call the Taxi company at '311' and tell them everything he's told me. Ummm...WTF!!??!?! Why did I just spend all that time telling you the information?!?!?! Homeboy didn't even have a radio or a phone to relay all of this information I'd given him. I have no idea why he was asking me all of that if he wasn't going to do anything with the information!!!!!!!!
After this I'm sad, angry, coughing up sputum into a napkin (from the bronchitis!), and pretty sure my brain is swelling after the hard hit in the cab. There's nothing I can do except for go through security and try to call the number he gave me once I'm sure I'll make my flight.
But then another problem occurs to me. I don't have a ride from the airport once I reach Chicago. I'd spoken to both my cousins Justin and Austin the day before over text, asking them for a ride, and letting him know my flight # and when it got in, but I hadn't had a chance to touch base with him that morning to double check who, if anyone, would be able to pick me up, let them know where I'd be, and coordinate with them where I should wait. Without a phone and without anyone's phone number I was pretty much up a creek, so I started to freak out a bit.
I came up with a plan. I would find a pay phone (gross), call my dad, and tell him to pass a message along to Justin. My dad always gets up super early on Sunday mornings to get ready for church and walk the dog, so I just knew he would pick up. I put my dollar (YES, pay phones cost $1 apparently) into the phone, dialed my dad's number, and when I heard his voice mail kick in, I just started to cry. I left a barely intelligible, very pathetic sounding message letting him know the situation and to tell my cousin Justin (who I was pretty sure was picking me up) all of my flight information.
The concussion helped me sleep on the flight, and I didn't really start to get really freaked out until I landed in Chicago. Everyone knows how hectic it is to try to find a ride at a major airport when you have a cell phone. So now imagine that you're without a phone with no idea who is picking you up, what kind of vehicle they're in, or if they're even coming! Traumatic!!!!
Since I called my dad from a pay phone and was without a phone myself, I had no idea whether he'd contacted my cousin or if he'd even gotten my message. When I walked to the baggage claim area for my flight and saw no one I recognized, I started to panic again. I decided that I'd have to get back to work on the pay phone. Before I could do that, I had to stop at one of the airport's newsstands to load up on change. This was a truly emotionally devastating experience for me.
After getting the change (which I had to pay 2 dollars for, fyi!), I got on the pay phone again, calling my dad, my sister Rachel, my mom, and my grandma. Not a one of those negroes answered their phones!!!
With each passing dollar and voice mail message, I started to get more and more defeated and irate. I started saying fatalistic things like "I'm running out of change," "I don't know if anyone's going to get this message," "This is my last phone call," and "I'm really freaking out." In hindsight, I was probably being just a tad bit dramatic. I mean, people were staring at me. Once I did get someone on the phone (my sister Rachel), I started screaming at the top of my mucus-filled lungs because I found out that after getting my first message, my dad had only text messaged my cousin!!! I screamed: "HE SENT A TEXT MESSAGE?!!!? I'M STRANDED IN THE AIRPORT AND ALL HE SENT WAS A TEXT MESSAGE!??!? I AM GOING TO MURDER HIM!!!" This was definitely not a hit with my fellow fliers, let me tell you.
After countless less-than-productive phone conversations, and one semi-productive one (that the operator cut short...that skank), I found out that my cousin was, in fact, on his way. He was running late, but he was coming for me. My stint on Chicago O'Hare Survivor Island would come to a close shortly. On my last call before I ran out of change, I told my sister to let him know exactly where I would be outside. Shortly thereafter, my cousins Justin and Austin pulled up and my legs nearly gave out, I was so excited.
Unfortunately, me being retrieved from the airport is the only happy ending this story has. After hundreds of calls put in to my phone (which I kept on for about a day and a half hoping the person who had it would try to call someone in my phone book and return it), I gave up hope and had my service temporarily disconnected. Monday, I walked into an AT&T store and purchased a brand new Blackjack II. Thankfully, I had an upgrade, so the phone didn't cost nearly as much as it could have, but it was definitely hard accepting that all of my contacts, pictures, files, and most of all my baby that has been through SO MUCH without crapping out on me were gone.
So please, for the love of all that is good and holy, send me your number. Because every time I look into the eyes of my new and empty (although beautiful and infinitely awesome) blackjack II, I die a little bit inside.
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