Smart Phone Blues

Albert misplaced his Blackberry 9670 on Labour Day. I don’t consider the phone itself a huge loss. It was already outdated when he bought it last spring. I called it the Blackberry Antique because it was the most awkward, least user-friendly smart phone I’ve ever had the aggravation to use. cell phone

But Albert loved the thing. He bought it because it was the only phone around with service that reached all the way home when he travelled sixteen hours north to his remote hunting camp in the fall. Lending it to his iPhone 4 and Blackberry Bold toting hunting buddies after trying to call their missus yielded nothing but dead air set a broad smile on his smug little face every time.

I helped him look for it late Monday evening. I retraced the route he’d taken from the minute he’d stepped outside to the moment he realized the phone was no longer hanging from his belt – around the truck, to the barn, to the garage. Halfway to the garage, my foot struck something in the dark. Hope rose within me. I picked up the object and rubbed it with my fingers. It felt like nothing more than a piece of rotting wood, so I dropped it and continued to pick my way over the dewy grass. But when a sniff of chilly night air produced a foul, pungent odor every time I moved my hands, it began to dawn on me that while what I’d picked up was certainly rotten, it wasn’t wood. It was dog shit.

My search efforts came to an abrupt halt. The phone was still at large but handling dog feces for the sake of one dogantiquated cell phone exceeds any obligation I have to my husband in the matter. His reaction to my plight was less than sympathetic, by the way. I suspect his hunting buddies suffer much the same look he gave me in regards to the same miserable phone.

He still hasn’t found it but that’s okay. I tell him he’ll likely find it as soon as he buys a new one. Besides, I’ve learned the smelly way that sometimes it’s better to let go than to go looking at all. You might find more than you bargained for.



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