Ok, so there I was: Freshly awake, still bumping into walls and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. (READ: NO COFFEE YET) As per my standard morning ritual, I made a stop at the bathroom. As I stood to flush, my cellular phone fell from my hoodie sweatshirt pocket into the hungry expective mouth of the toilet (reasons as to why it was in there in the first place lie with my "freshly awake therefore not thinking state of mind"). Quickly, i scream "OH NO" as if to stop the water from washing over it, and thrust my hand into the toilet bowl, successfully retrieving what has become the most expenisve piece of useless plastic that I own. Even taking it apart, setting it on my dashboard like a world class parking pass, and driving two hours to the Portland Airport with the defroster on "HIGH" heat was not enough to dry out and salvage the phone, the pictures on the phone, the expensive ringtones downloaded on the phone, or *gasp* most tragic of all, THE CONTACT LIST IN THE PHONE!
So, the point is: I'm going to need all your numbers again. But probably not at least for the next 5-7 business days.
Well, in my post-cellular-apocolypic existance, I have learned the art of using pay phones. Which have increased drastically in price since the last time I used them at the tender age of 13 (when I had to call my dad to pick me up from the mall after I had gone to see the movie Mission Impossible with my friend Jon, but it so wasn't a date, we were just friends). So, like a 90's thirteen year old (for sure, not a modern day thirteen year old that has a nice cell phone than I used to own), I find myself free from the expectation of accessing 128 numbers at the touch of a button that scrolls down the contact list.
Really, it's amazing how stressful such a liberating experience can be. Yes, my phone is gone. Yes, I do feel a certain degree of isolation. At the same time, how great is freedom from the electronic leash that so recently binded me down with 79 over-the-limit minutes charged directly to my checking account at an additional $.55 every minute! How nice will a clean start, free of all the numbers that I never called but couldn't bear to delete from my phone for fear of recieving a text message from an "unknown number" and suffering the social embarassment of responding with "who is this again?" I was nearly giddy driving to the airport. I cranked up Dan Folgelberg and, with my window rolled down (ref. previous story about having to keep the heat on high in futile attempt to dry out toilet phone), I treated all of Oregon and some of Washington to a Dan Folgelberg and Yours Truly live concert. Yes, I was sinigng at the top of my lungs, and dancing within the restraints of my seatbelt. It was sunny. It was glorious. And I had not a care in the world. Even though I had lost my itenary and didn't know when my flight was leaving, or which airline I was on, or how I was going to contact my uncle who not only had all this information, but is supposed to be picking me up tonight in Sacramento (if that really is my destination or maybe it's Oakland or even SFO), since I neither know his phone number, nor anyone else who would have it. Truthfully, the only phone numbers still in my head are my grandparents and a few select friends from high school that I used to have to call from a regualr touch-tone-phone back in the days of dialup internet and $1.00 per gallon gas.
That was about the time I got pulled over. Speeding. I couldn't help it, all that positive energy was pushing my foot to the ground and accelerating my little truck to the point of shaking and rattling so intensly, I thought for sure bolts would be flying out of the engine block. Not even lights in my rearview mirror could dampen my day. I pulled over, and with a smile on my face said, "What's wrong officer, tail light out?" Then, I started laghing (you know how I crack myself up sometimes) and I thought, Oh shit, he is going to think I'm drunk...or high....or both. But instead of a field sobriety test, I was let off with a warning and a compliment on my bright smile (thank you crest white strips).
(Ok, so that whole getting pulled over was more of an elaborate daydream than a reality, but it would have completed this perfect day).
Alls well that ends well though. I guestimated the time I had to be at the airport, and was able to deduce that odds were 33.333% I would be on Southwest Airlines (since they were one of 3 airlines flying into Sacramento and Oakland....one of those HAD to be my destination). So, I showed up around 5pm for a 6:45pm flight and I checked in with Southwest, who did INDEED have a reservation for a certain Erin M Dixon. And now I am enjoying Airport WiFI outside of gate C15.....still smiling, even though I have not yet gotten ahold of my uncle John (who loves me anyway, even though I am so totally like this) Did this story surprise anyone? I'm guessing not.
1 comment:
Great blog.
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