Smartphone; Dumb Deeds

You see that woman digging through her purse like a starving dog digging for a bone? I’ll bet you anything she’s in the throes of that particular kind of anxiety attack one has when one realizes her smartphone has gone missing. I’m very responsible with my phone, so I’ve never experienced it myself. But I know the symptoms when I see them.

If you listen closely, you may hear some colorful language, even from victims with no previous history of it—not that this particular victim has no previous history of it. If you shook her hand—not that she’s in the mood for that right now—you’d notice that it’s trembling. And, you can’t see this, but her heart is racing like she just ran twelve miles—not that she could.

Keep watching, and you’ll see her search her pockets, shopping bags, briefcase, or whatever else she’s carrying. Then she’ll expand her search to the pockets, shopping bags, and briefcases of anyone standing nearby.   

If the cell phone still isn’t located, and it probably won’t be, our now nearly hysterical victim will begin to order those around her to call my number. Did I say “my number?” I meant her number. Call her number and she’ll rush around, head cocked this way and that, listening carefully, and muttering that she’ll never silence her phone again, no matter how annoying it will be to everyone else when it goes off in church the next time.

She’s panicking not only about the cost of replacing her phone, but about how much she’s going to miss it now that it’s gone. Her very smart smartphone is so much more than a phone. She gets emails, texts, and two or three hundred notifications from Facebook on it every day. Whatever will she do without all that?

Her phone is also her alarm clock, calendar, camera, music source, calculator, flashlight, encyclopedia, and more. The thing has more uses than baking soda and duct tape combined. As much as she uses it, it’s a wonder she ever puts it down, but apparently she did. Unless she dropped it—in which case, it’s probably been run over in the parking lot by now.

Or maybe someone picked it up first. And maybe that someone is honest, and will make every attempt to return it. Or maybe that someone will not.

If she has any imagination at all—and it should be clear by now that she does—she thinks about how the thief will somehow manage to figure out her password. Then, with all the information that’s stored on her phone, he’ll take over her life and probably do a better job with it.

She begins to berate herself. How could she have been so careless—again? What to do? She decides she must retrace her steps. She reaches for her car keys and…what’s that? It’s her smartphone, right there where it’s been all along, in the bottom of my purse. I mean her purse. It’s right there in the bottom of her purse.  

Dorothy Rosby is a blogger and humor columnist whose column appears regularly in publications throughout the West and Midwest. She’s the author of four books of humorous essays all available locally at Mitzi’s Books in Rapid City and on Amazon.