But if the Jews didn’t have to tolerate more than eight days in ancient times, then why should I? At this point, enough is enough.
The first day didn’t really count as a day because I was busy sleeping and absorbing the shock of the situation. It was Monday, exactly a week ago, when I realized my phone was MIA. The brandy new fancy phone I had just gotten, entered all my appointments and events, to do lists, and memo’s but neglected to back up on my computer. Dan and I had arrived home from Moab via Silverthorne when I realized the phone was no longer in my posession. Silverthorne wasn’t supposed to be part of our trip but a snowstorm kept us from driving over Loveland Pass so we stopped in the funky ski town for the night. Where I proceeded to puke my guts out all night, in our motel room toilet (which was not so funky). Maybe its not so sanitary after all, to go on a group camping trip (including children, lots of children with dirty hands) sans running water. (Note to self: Bring Purell next time). The next morning, we were welcomed by sunshine, dry roads, and a substantially less queasy feeling in my stomach. We completed the journey back to Boulder, when I realized my phone was missing. I promptly called the Silver Inn, where the kind Tom confirmed my phone was there and he would send it to me today. I thought surely I would have it Wednesday at the latest.
Tuesday Dan was gone all day for a course. It figures. On any normal day he would work from home (read: I would have access to his phone) but not this week. No worries, though. Dan’s computer has a Skype phone.
Wednesday Dan left again for his class in the wee hours of the morning (ok 7am) and I eventually got up and went about my business. Except for any that involved the phone. Skype kept on telling me “Skype cannot hear you talking.” I screamed and yelled some things that are not appropriate for this blog but Skype still couldn’t hear me. Neither could anyone I was trying to reach. Dan came home and patiently explained that the Skype headphone has to be completely plugged into the computer in order to function.
Thursday I awoke to a new day, fresh with hope. As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I turned on Dan’s computer. It wanted his Skype password. Skype Password!? He didn’t leave me the password! I knew I shouldn’t even guess. You see, Dan is not a normal person who uses his favorite food or sports trivia (he doesn’t even like sports) for a password. No, he is a special sort of person who uses a computer program to give him encrypted 25 character passwords that I don’t think he even knows what they are. So I told Skype to please email me my password. Which went to Dan’s work email account. Which I did not know the password for. Or how to even run. Foiled again.
Finally Dan came home (read: Dan’s phone was available to me) and I was able to call Tom at the Silver Inn to get the tracking number for the phone. But he wasn’t working. I frantically explained the urgent phone situation to the lady there who gave me Tom’s number. I left Tom a message. He called back and gave me the tracking number. The USPS website said it had been delivered. Twice. Nuh uh! I never saw it! I tried to call USPS. They were not home. Dan cheerfully pointed out “We have a tracking number! That’s good!” I glared at him. There were only four words that could have made me happy: Here is your phone. Dan tried again later, in the car on the way to the rock gym “It really sucks that you don’t have your phone! Damn it!” with a tone as genuine as that of a game show host. It was sweet of him to try and console me but he could not win. I told him we should just stop talking about it. Then his phone rang and he answered it. I accused him of trying to make me jealous. And so began my descent toward madness.
Friday at work I called the post office. They told me the phone had been returned to sender. Returned to Sender!? But that made no sense!? Was it too late? Could its route be reversed? Don’t return to Sender!! Sendee is here waiting for said phone!!! NOOOOOO!! The post office man calmy interrupted me and said, “Ma’am. Ma’am. Ma’am.” Really, he said “Ma’am” three times. I wonder if that is how they soothe crazy people when they are flailing their limbs all around while the police try to cuff them. I stopped talking and apologized. He said it was being returned to Silverthorne and there was nothing else he could do for me. So I called my boy Tom and explained the situation, that perhaps he did not write the address completely correctly, and when he gets it can he please send it to me again, asap, and so sorry for the inconvenience. He promised he would. As it turned out, he himself had recently lost his phone and all his contacts. “Hey that’s a good way to weed out all the friends you don’t like” I joked. He laughed. We totally bonded. I was confident Tom had what it took to get my phone back, safe and sound.
The weekend was manageable, save for a work scheduling mix-up which was largely the result of my not having access to my calendar. But otherwise, I was starting to feel liberated by not having a phone. Also, Dan went on a camping trip Saturday and left his phone in my possession for the week.
Monday (today) I checked the tracking number online. On the 17th the phone had been delivered to the sender. So where was it now? Had Tom sent it back again? Did it have a new tracking number? I had so many unanswered questions. I called the trusty Silver Inn but was informed that Tom would not be working till tomorrow. I then went through the phone’s call log to try and find Tom’s cell. I called every 970 number in there (Why were there so darn many? Dan, do we know that many people on the Western Slope?). None of the people at the numbers I called knew anything about Tom. How could they all be wrong numbers? My brain was filled with question marks. A few hours later I got a call from a 970 number. I told my friends to please excuse me. I took the call.
“This is Pam.”
“Oh… I think…”
“I think this is the wrong number..”
“IS THIS TOM?”
“TOM FROM THE SILVER INN? THIS IS PAM. ABOUT THE PHONE?”
“Oh, I just saw this number on the caller id of all my phones.” Tom sounded stoned.
“Yeah, Tom, hi. I was calling about my phone? That I left at the Silver Inn? Remember?”
“Its really wierd that you haven’t gotten it.”
His tone was exhausted and annoyed. This did not seem good. I tried to jog his memory, to bring us back to the happy time we shared, when he promised he’d send it back to me. When we had a moment as he recalled how much it sucked to lose his phone recently. I pressed on.
“I know, but remember we talked Friday, and I told you it was going to be returned to sender and you said you’d get it to me? Did you get it? The tracking ID says it arrived Friday.”
He mumbled something about not having seen it. Oh God. Tom, stay with me, buddy.
“Have you been to the place where it was being mailed since Friday?”
I heard something barely coherent about how wierd this was and he was going to his PO box soon. I then realized I was talking to someone who lives in a mountain town during the off season on 4/20. This was not seeming good at all.
“Tom, but you’ll go to the PO box tomorrow and check on it? Right? I know this is so annoying. I will pay you. I feel really bad about this. But I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, this is…so wierd….you know.” Yes Tom, I know this is wierd, I KNOW, BUT DON’T LEAVE ME STRANDED LIKE THIS!!!! PLEASE TOM YOU’RE ALL I HAVE.
In the end I think Tom agreed to check the PO box and mail it to me at Dan’s, this time (I think) c/o fiancee Dan (apparently the mixup may have been because he left this crucial line off the address) and I have in the meantime alerted the mail carrier that I am staying here. (Of course I could get my mail at my own domicile but that would mean I would have to go there and I am not in the mood).
I hope the phone comes soon. I don’t know how much more I can take. Tomorrow will be Day Nine. Even God rested on the seventh day.