It’s hot in New York City. Not as hot as Hell or stage lights, but still, uncomfortably warm. Yesterday, I decided I was fully capable of going down to Chelsea and picking up my own air conditioning unit from Home Depot like a boss and that it would be no big deal to take it onto the subway.
After lifting my new air conditioner for three seconds, I realized a cab was a much more viable option and hailed one instantly, with the assistance of a very nice young man. The cab driver complimented me on my appliance brand choice, LG, and tried to make small talk, but I was unable to focus as I was getting a little nauseous in the warm cab and heavy traffic.
After managing to get all my stuff inside, I collapsed on the couch, hoping Wife Swap and pretzel chips would calm my stomach and my frayed, sweaty nerves. An hour later, dinner eaten, Wife Swap rerun enjoyed, I went to check my phones for work and play respectively. My Blackberry was fine, but my iPhone was missing. As I tore through my gym bag, tossing aside receipts and shoes and moisturizer, the icy hand of fear gripped my heart. After calling my beloved with my Blackberry and failing to feel the comfortable vibration, assuring me that my phone was with me, just being coy, I realized I had left it in the taxi cab.
Frenetic could not begin to describe the next hour of my life. I called Best Buy to see if my insurance covered loss. It did not. I called Verizon. I called 311. I called the taxi company to a constant busy signal. I called my mom and swore into the phone for ten minutes (she’s a good sport for sure). I also called my iPhone 18 times, to no avail. With a heavy heart, I called Apple to see what could be done about locking my phone remotely. As I tried to navigate the infuriating automated inquisition that Apple and most major corporations have set up to ensure that any customer who calls will have totally lost his or her shit by the time they talk to an actual person, my call waiting beeped.
I am a lucky, lucky girl. I was certain my phone was lost forever. But instead, the angel of cell phones (Street Name: Lawrence) found it in the same cab over an hour after I lost it, found my work phone number and called it. I met him at a bar an hour later and my precious had returned to me. Lawrence and I chatted on the street for a bit before I melted off into the steamy summer night. Apparently, he finds phones and returns them all the time. There is a special place in Heaven reserved for people like Lawrence, who also explained to me the best way to install my air conditioner.