I have owned a lot of mobile phones. Lose them, break them, drop them in the sea/toilet - more frequently than most. I just get a new number each time for speed. Friends have had up to 12 different possible numbers assigned to my name. My mother saves my ‘current number’ with the month that I tell it to her. (We're on ‘Sarah October'. It's January so we're going well so far.)
Four days ago, in a wildly unexpected turn of events, my phone went missing somewhere in my room. I didn’t really notice on day one. On day two someone sent me a message, and I heard the alert tone and thought, ‘oh good, I haven’t lost my phone,’ which is what I think most times my phone makes a noise. However my £10 phone (I know!! How do they make them so cheap?? It’s madness!) alerts me with some serious beeping when my inbox is full. This message happened to be the one to tip it over the edge. So my phone (bear in mind, hidden somewhere in my room) has been beeping every half hour for the last 3 days. I kept forgetting to look for it in the glorious period of silence between the beeps. Last night at 1.00am enough was enough.
This is how it goes:
This is how it goes:
Call mobile using house phone. Rings twice, stop to listen. Sounds oddly muffled like it is inside something. Panic in case I’ve swallowed it without realising. Decide unlikely - rule it out for now. Rings twice more and stops - gone to voicemail. Battery dead. So begins the process of elimination: strip bed, check pillowcases, pull bed away from wall, empty ‘stuff’ box under bed, check pockets of clothes on floor, poke behind radiator with coat hanger. Pause. Try calling using house phone again, battery still dead. Pull clothes out of wardrobe, lift loose floorboard, stub toe, strip bed again, re-check pockets, open drawers, open dvd cases, open curtains, open Terry’s Chocolate Orange for a break. Eat nearly all Terry’s Chocolate Orange except for three bits. Feel sick. Lie down on bed.
Spot bin. Check bin. Touch something damp. Continue rummage with coat hanger. Find phone in bin, inside a pair of laddered tights, covered in hair.
I don't understand. ‘Sarah October’ lives to text another day.