Lost, Found, Stolen, Found, Returned - Temple of Me

Temple of Me

Welcome. All web sites are temples to their creators. Temple of Me will reflect what interests me, Temple of Me. I am a husband, father (twice), American, and liberal. I live in a "Red state" in the South. I am nearsighted, ambidextrous and over 30. Actually, I'm 153.33% of thirty.

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Lost, Found, Stolen, Found, Returned

That headline describes 30 minutes in the life of my phone.

After riding my bike I reached into my pack to find my phone missing. If this happened to you, you might assume you lost it.

I didn't. Many times I think I have the darn thing with me, but I've forgotten it on a table, or in a couch, or a pair of pants, or a potted plant (don't ask).

So, I calmly went into the house and called my cell. I do that to hear the ring from the hamper, the couch, my desk, or the refrigerator (don't ask).

No answer. I walk outside with the cordless and call again. After all, it could be in the grass, under a bush, on the driveway, or in the compost (don't ask).

No strains of "Strawberry Letter 23" (My ringtone. Don't ask.)

But someone answers my phone! "Hello?" Relieved, I say, "Great. You found my phone! Could you..."


I call back. I hear street noise. I hear "Hello." I say, "Hi, you've found my..."


I call back. Same result.

I had only ridden my bike in a 5 mile loop. I could find that street sound. I call my wife. Explain I've lost my phone. She understands immediately she needs to call it. (Don't ask.)

I interrupt to explain the new twist.

I ask her to call it over and over as I retrace my steps. Someone would be walking the street listening to "Smooth." (My wife gets a special ringtone.)

I search the streets. No luck.

I stop and call my wife. Another twist!

My wife explains after a few similar hang ups, a woman called her to explain that her daughter had found my phone. I could go to their home and retrieve it. That makes sense. My path took me by an elementary school.

The retrieval deserves a post of its own, but some things are best left unwritten.

I go home and check out my phone.

That elementary school child who found my phone? Well, she took a picture of herself. She looks 20. I guess I had that wrong.

Plus, some calls had been made to numbers I don't recognize.

You need to know a couple of things about me. My number is always blocked. I call from my cell and it doesn't show up on any residential caller ID. Also, I have no method to check my cell number from the phone. So, if you find my phone, there's no way to give the number out so you can use it.

There is no moral to this story. Except, while writing this I realized my phone isn't on the stand by the door. I'm afraid to call the number.

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3 comments received. Post a comment.

I have to confess that I've had to call myself a few times--but the phone's always been at home. I've yet to lose it in the wild, thankfully!

# Posted by: tqe / adam at September 11, 2010 1:26 AM

This story kind of freaks me out. I'm obsessive-compulsive about double-checking that I have my wallet and phone (although I often misplace my keys). I doubt I'd be as quick and clear as you were in this situation.

# Posted by: Sister at September 13, 2010 5:17 PM

No no no.

*Keys* go in the refrigerator.

*Phones* go in the mail bin.

# Posted by: sbpoet at October 4, 2010 1:01 PM

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