I’m back. I should’ve known better than to leave.
Some of you may have known that at Christmas time we stole from our Pre-K age neighbor. Well, Kharma? She’s a real Nutcracker.
If you’ve ever tried to get in touch with me you will be shocked to learn that I’m not addicted to my phone. I know. I’ll let your heart rate settle before I continue.
Not being addicted to my phone means that I “lose” it often. And by “lose” I mean I can’t find it immediately so I just go to bed and think, “Ah, it’ll turn up”.
Usually I’m right. It does “turn up”. In my purse. Between couch cushions. In that space between the driver’s seat and the console. At the local alternative middle school.
Last Monday I was sitting at my desk getting ready to start the day when I remembered that I hadn’t seen my phone since leaving my parents’ house. I knew it was either there or somewhere in my house. I decided to narrow the search and check the handy dandy Find My iPhone app.
This is what I saw (this is a dramatization, you’ll have to imagine the Google marker is a green dot):
That is not my address. That is not my parents’ address. This is in West Nashville. I’ve been to West Nashville maybe twice my entire life. What the…
I refreshed the page because surely this was wrong. Surely this was wrong. Please, Jesus, let this app be wrong.
Nope. My iPhone with 7% battery life was in an area of town I’d never been to, and I was now given the task of rescuing it.
Some googling told me that my iPhone was not just on the other side of town, but it was in an alternative middle school.
You might as well have told me it was at Alcatraz. Here in Nashville, alternative schools are basically the step right before prison for most students. Or so I’ve heard. Because the only thing I ever got in trouble for during my entire time in the public school system was short shorts.
I was going to have to confront the meanest, baddest kids in the Metropolitan Nashville area to get my phone back. My first thought? “I could probably be cool with pay phones… there are still pay phones, right?”
I called the school and the officer said he would look into it. The adult high school was in the same building so it could be an adult and if it was then I’d be crap out of luck because you can search students whenever you’d like but adults are protected “by the Constitution” or something.
As I waited for the officer to call me back, I started praying a student had it because I wanted to help this wayward young thief get their life back on track. My new mission in life was to become some kid’s Michelle Pfeiffer from Dangerous Minds.
“Hey, Thief, let me change your life via Bob Dylan lyrics.”
Terrified Kid That Had My Phone: Are you going to press charges?
Me: Of course not. I’m here to help you, not convict you.
Terrified Kid: Thank you, Saint Maria. Can I call you Saint Maria?
Me: Well, Saint Marie, but sure. That works. Now what are your thoughts on Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man?
When the officer confirmed that a kid did have my phone my friend and I drove out there to get it. Apparently the kid “found” it in my neighborhood, and thought it would be a great first item for his new store, “Bad Kids R’ Us”. Yeah, he was trying to sell it, but thanks to the Find My iPhone app, the MNPD, and Miranda my chauffer into the area of town I’d never been to his plans were thwarted and my phone was returned back to its rightful, though irresponsible, owner.
*For the record, given my very real propensity for losing things I would not be surprised at all if I drove off with the phone on my car and it fell off where ever the kid “found” it. The kid is probably more entrepreneur than thief. He should try to bring his business to the Shark Tank…