somewhere between quinlan's, the backseat of an allied cab and the ghetto spur, i lost my phone. when i woke this afternoon, i tried calling my phone from chuck's. no buzz of vibration from a corner of my purse. i checked my messages:
the first was from jcrew, lauding her own fashion sense as it applied to semaire armstrong's cell phone on dirty sexy money.
the second was not the well-wishing do-gooder with news on my phones whereabouts. it was a grunty man who loudly and drunkenly plead: c'mon, laurie. don't be like that. answer the phone.
this was how i knew i'd not only lost my phone, it had been pressed against the dirty ear of a hot headed cell phone thief named laurie. i checked my online call log and learned that laurie had made 33 1-2 minute calls between 9:55 a.m. to present -- including a $1.50 call to 411. i like knowing that in laurie's world, today will forever be known as the day the sky opened and dropped a free cell phone in her KFC special sauce-stained lap. the day she unfolded a tattered sheet of paper -- her phone number list, and began calling each number -- sometimes twice -- and telling everyone about how she just got a nokia flip phone, newish save for the teeth marks where its previous owner had occasionally gnawed on the semi-antenae.
sorry, laurie. i reported it stolen to cellular one and had the service suspended. she didn't text anyone. possible that she slipped into something naughty and photographed her own mushy cleavage, while frolicking in the morning glow of the neon sign at last chance liquor. luckily laurie didn't know this phone's capabilities: it could do internets.
we did some reverse phone number lookups, but found just one perminant address on first street east. this suggests a level of class typically found stuck to the rotating plate of a gas station microwave.
later in the day i cozied up next to a land line and made a phone call to one of the repeated numbers from laurie's phone frenzy.
me: hi. i believe your friend laurie has stolen my cell phone.
man: i don't know no laurie's ...
me: really? because at approximately 1 p.m. today you talked to her for two minutes. and that wasn't your first conversation of the day.
man: i don't know a laurie. i do know that a girl called me ... but her name isn't laurie. ... this girl is a stupid bitch.
me: well. do you know where she lives and how i can get ahold of her and get my phone back?
man: hmm ... i don't know where she lives. she just calls me sometimes. did you try to call her?
me: uh. yeah. she's probably not answering because she stole my phone.
man: hmm ... what does the phone look like?
me: i don't know. a cell phone.
man: is it a blue nokia flip phone?
man: hmm ... i think i saw that today. i'm going to get it back for you. can i reach you at this number?
six hours later and i've not heard back from him. my phone is useless to laurie right now, no service and likely a dead battery. seems like now would be a good time for her to return it. she's had her fun; i've had a good laugh. i found the long list of calls spasm inducing [i have unlimited calling], the conversation with the man who called her a bitch a real hoot, and chuck's slow motion impersonation of a woman stealing my phone while i was distracted by gatorade and burritos down right hilarious.
i don't have the lists of books i want to read that i put in the notes section, and i don't have a copy of my favorite text message ever. the photo of chuck wearing goalie pads that used to crop up when he called? gone. and, most importantly, i don't have a damn phone right now and i'm being haunted by phantom ringsitis.