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Sometimes I long for the good old days when phones were attached to the wall—right there in the kitchen, with that six-foot curly cord that somehow managed to stretch 47 feet. You never lost the phone back then. You might trip over it, get strangled by it, or yank the toaster off the counter while talking to Aunt Mildred, but you never lost it. As we evolved, it did become possible to lose the handset, but at least the base was still there on the end of the counter, plugged into the wall!
Now? I lose my phone at least twice a week. Sometimes it’s just for a few minutes, like when I forget I stopped in the laundry room mid-scroll. But other times? We’re talking full-scale Search & Rescue. Cue the bloodhounds and set up the snack table—this one’s gonna take a while.
The other morning, I was on the sofa, deep in a phone conversation with a friend. After we hung up, I did a quick load of laundry, made lunch, and got ready to head to my office. I reached for my phone on the end table—right where I had just been sitting.
Gone.
“Oh,” I thought, naively. “Probably carried it into the laundry room.”
Narrator: She did not.
Kitchen? Nope. Not next to the oven where I often scroll Pinterest for new culinary delights while waiting for the one in the oven to complete its cooking. (I need to find that air-fried pasta chip thing again.)
At this point, I called in the imaginary dogs and launched a full-on grid search. I flipped the couch (no easy task, since it has TWO built-in recliners—basically the furniture equivalent of a Sherman tank). I busted out the emergency flashlight like I was spelunking for treasure. Nada.
I checked the hampers. I checked the pantry. I checked the fridge, just in case I’d had a moment. Under the bed? Nothing but dust bunnies and judgment.
Then it hit me—I had run out to my office briefly when the pizza went in. Hope reignited! I searched that office like it was hiding gold bullion. Still nothing. Frustrated and about five minutes away from updating my will, I was rushing back to the cottage and kicked my tiny office trash can.
It tipped over… and casually spit out my phone like it was unimpressed with all the drama. Yes. I had knocked it off my desk earlier, where it had landed—perfectly, silently—in the world’s smallest trash bin.
Modern technology is amazing, until it stops working.
Or worse, it decides to play hide and seek.