You
can stop the search. I appreciate the help, but I found my phone.
(And I didn’t need to call it.)
A
few years ago… actually, many years ago… I was going crazy looking
for my phone. I checked every room of the house. I called it.
I looked in jackets and pants and countless pockets. I called
it again. I opened kitchen cabinets and living room drawers. I
called it again. And again.
Eventually
I wandered out to the car, preparing to retrace two hours of my
morning errands. And for some reason, as I started moving down
the driveway, I thought about where my right arm was. Not because
the phone was in the armrest… but rather because next to the armrest
was the cup holder. The same cup holder that I occasionally tossed
my phone into and closed, since it was one of those annoyingly
shaped flip-phones and if I was just going to be in the post office
for a moment… well… typically no one calls me.
Today,
it was under my sweatshirt on the arm of the chair. That was completely
unexpected. I woke up, got dressed, and slid the phone into a
pocket of my jeans. When I began looking for it, I could vividly
recall moving it from a back pocket to a front pocket. The arm
of a chair? That was a weird one.
I
don’t often misplace things. I tend to be one of those creatures
of habits, well-trained by the fewest occasions of missing remotes.
I generally drop my keys and wallet into the same places when
I arrive at home. And yet… it does occasionally happen.
I’m
sure you have your own stories. Here’s a good one of mine…
Two
or three weeks ago, I went to make a cup of coffee. I’m not against
brewing a whole pot, but I’m not a coffee addict and usually I’m
the only coffee drinker in the house. One cup. Maybe two. Easier
to fire up the Keurig. Mug… pod… cream… sugar… brew… hold on…
where’s the mug?
Just
so happened the mug I thought I had grabbed matched a few others
that we have. So, when I saw another in the dishwasher during
my look around for it, I rolled my eyes, figured I was losing
my mind, and took out another one. Over to the fridge… open the
door… and…
There,
next to the half and half, was my original mug with cream and
sugar still in the bottom.
Again,
I’m sure you have your own stories. Stories of glasses on your
head… stories of plates put in the cabinets instead of the sink…
stories of remotes and books and car keys and tools and more.
The trick of the matter rests in one of two things (sometimes
both): (1) Figuring out if you’re an idiot or really losing it,
and, (2) if needed, making sure it doesn’t happen again.
My
wife and I have a few weird arguments that take place on occasion.
I say weird because they are really more fun than heated exchanges,
and both of us contend the information involved—depending on our
side of the issue—is either highly important or completely unnecessary.
You
want an example? Ok…
The
other day I came in from the garage. I had left an extension cord
more or less stretched out (but not plugged in… never plugged
in and just abandoned), and I began explaining to her that it
was there for the electric starter of the snow blower. Her response,
before I could even finish, was to ask me when she would ever
need to be using the snow blower. (Ok then. Moving on.)
Similar
back and forths involve how the remotes work to get the DVD movie
to play on the television screen… where the cloth needs to be
placed in the kitchen sink… and…
Let’s
just say it works very much in both directions.
It’s
supposed to be a benefit to us. A way to keep tabs on items we
need and understand how to use the things we… well… use. What
it doesn’t do is change those awkward feelings when we misplace
something. Quite the joy to be looking for a coffee mug, open
the fridge and mutter “idiot” to myself.
Now,
if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my wallet.