The Old Coot’s phone took a train ride.
By Merlin Lessler
My friend Rick lost his cell phone the other day. I won’t
mention his last name, but if you want your wood floor refinished, I’ll give
you his number.
He was in a panic. Well, not actually a panic; he’s pretty
even tempered. Let’s just say, he was concerned. He went through the house and
his truck. No luck! Then he extended his search to the places he had been that
morning. First, the grocery store. Nobody had turned it in. Over to Home
Central - Not there. Then across the tracks to Scott Smith and Son where he had
gassed up. Nothing doing! He knew he had it when he was there because he
remembered checking his messages.
He did a lot that morning. A week’s worth of stuff for me.
Finally, he went back home and gave it an FBI search. Nothing! He stood there
scratching his head, “What am I missing?” Then it hit him, the chest freezer in
the basement. He had put some groceries in there. Without much hope, he pulled
up the lid. There it was, peeking out from under a package of ground beef.
We’ve all had this experience. Usually with a similar
outcome. But not always! Sometimes it’s gone forever. I lost one on a train
ride to Florida. I’d discovered it was missing when I got to the room we had
rented. I knew I’d lost it on the train. I used my computer to track it down.
Sure enough, it was on the train traveling north through Georgia. I called
Amtrak. In hopes they could check the seat I’d been in and get it. I won’t get
into what a nightmare that process turned into. Bottom line, I watched the
phone go north to the auto-train station in Virginia, and then head south again.
Then it disappeared. Lost forever. Wedged down in the seat cushion on an Amtrak
train. I like Rick’s story better.
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