It was Friday night. We somehow found ourselves at a friend’s game night longer than expected and I was so glad to be back. I wanted to collapse and sleep for hours. But I needed to find my phone. I stumbled out to the car, blindly putting my hand in the front seat and the back seat. Using Chris’ phone, I heard my ringtone—the default ringtone on the blackberry. Ok, good it’s here. Not stuck in Santa Clara nor stuck in Stanford, the two places I had stopped by that Friday evening.
Not being able to find it, I stumbled back and collapsed into a log-like sleep. The following morning, I searched my phone again, calling it with the various devices I had on hand. Still nowhere. Chris later attempted an in-depth search. We called it, determining that it was in the right side of the car. It was near the driver’s seat. We shoved our hands every which way, put our heads upside down. Everything, but it was nowhere. Even in the dark, nothing lit up, nothing vibrated. But every time we called, we could hear that distinct ringtone…ringing somewhere in the deep belly of the car.
It was like the car ate my phone.