Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Phone Home

The matter of returning the phone to its owner was actually a problem that, had I been on the other end of the stick, I probably could have solved much sooner. I was pussyfooting around the matter; especially after discovering that the thing had wi-fi available.

Maybe the situation with the phone sheds light upon how I am behind the curve in an increasingly connected-through-technology, society.

If it were my phone that were lost, I would hope that whomever found it would basically call back the numbers of the most recent "missed calls," as I had.

These would be the people who were trying to call the guy that night, as his phone lay on the concrete.
They were at least that recently in his life, which makes it likely that they also see him in person, at least the ones with local phone numbers; because friendships conducted entirely over the phone between people who are in close proximity would seem anomalies. Looking at the picture of the owner on the front of the phone, I could even picture him saying: "I'll talk to you when I get there," before disconnecting the call and then missing his pocket with the phone (right as a trolley was passing, masking the sound of it hitting the pavement).

If anyone was calling him for a reason that they deemed important, then they would certainly explore other avenues to find him, even if just to learn why he hasn't been answering their calls. Plus, the man appears, in his phone pic, to be in his early to mid 70's; and, when you are that age and stop answering your phone suddenly; people wonder. People listed as beneficiaries in his life insurance policy wonder.

I thus have to admit that I was pussyfooting around the matter of getting the phone back to the guy, because I liked to be able to surf the web on it from my room and record videos (only one of which came out alright) of myself performing songs.

When I finally brought the matter to the attention of one of the security ladies, whom is almost always doing something with her own phone when I see her, and who is young enough so that she probably texts with her thumbs faster and better than she writes in cursive (if she even knows how to) the matter was settled in less than an hour.

Through a quick survey of the phone, she determined that its service had been cut off, probably by the owner, and this gave her a pretty good idea, even, of what type of service contract the guy had.
All's Well That Ends Well

She suggested that I take the phone into the office of Tim, my caseworker, who dialed a number from it, using his own phone, which had nationwide service.

Blood Thicker Than Water

The number was listed in Georgia, but was filed in the contacts under the heading of "home."

I had seen this myself, but envisioned it as being connected to some little cottage out in rural Georgia where, perhaps, some of his family still live, and which is a place that he will always call "home."

It didn't seem to me that the people "1,000 miles away" in Georgia would be in a better position to assist in the returning of the phone, than the ones right here in the neighborhood, but, illustrating that blood is thicker than water, the guy's ex-wife ("we're still close, though") answered, and was immediately able to grasp the situation, make a call to the guy's son, who was here at Sacred Heart within the hour, brimming over with relief, gratitude and other things that aren't reward money,* as the phone was returned to the hands of it's rightful owner, having sustained no more damage than having had a 2 minute video of myself playing and singing "Howard's Morning Routine," an original of mine, added to its memory.

*I am joking about the reward money; in fact I turned to phone over entirely to the care of Tim, my caseworker, who took all the credit and blessings in my stead.
Again, would you accept reward money from this guy (above)?

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