It is a strange experience when you call your own phone and someone answers.
This story starts a few weeks ago when I lost my phone. This was not the first time, or the last time. I lose my phone about once a day. I really think someone should come up with some ingenious invention where you can’t lose your phone. Maybe it could be attached to the wall or something, and you don’t have to worry about carrying it with you everywhere you go. Someone should invent that.
Anyway, I lost my phone. The good thing about losing a phone, as compared to the myriad of other things that I lose, is that it makes a noise. I really need my glasses, my keys and my wallet to start making noises too.
The easiest way to make it make a noise is to call it with another phone, so that is what I did. I used my kids’ phone to call it. The phone was ringing, but I couldn’t hear it. Then the most startling thing happened, something that you only hear about in horror movies, someone answered that lost phone and said, “Hello?”
I swear it sounded just like my voice. This is what happens when you read too much sci-fi as a teenager.
At this point, I’m not sure what to say. What do you say when you’re talking to yourself? I mean, I talk to myself constantly, but not quite so literally. The person on the other end must not have come up with anything to say either, because they hung up.
Of course, I immediately began to doubt I had actually called myself, or some other myself from a different dimension. That’s because I’m pretty sure that all of the other, multi-dimensional myselfs are probably apt to lose their own phones too. Spider-Man may have had problems like this once or twice too, but I can assure you, it was new territory for me, and I immediately began looking for other explanations.
So I immediately went to the other, obvious explanation. Someone must have stolen my phone. I concluded that I dropped my phone somewhere, and then, knowing that there is a huge market for battered, cheap phones out there, someone must have picked it up. And then when I called it, this someone must have answered. Yes, that would be stupid, but I’ve heard of a lot of stupider criminals. Or is it more stupid criminals? Stupidester criminals? I’m not sure.
Anyway, I was sure someone had stolen my phone, with all my personal information, and was just now trying to figure out how to exploit me out of my life savings. This would not have taken long. I don’t have any savings, but they were going to figure out how to try.
So I pulled up a program on my computer to find my phone. I was sure that I would see it traveling down the road somewhere between my house and downtown L.A. Instead, it was located IN my house. Now that I had recovered from the possibility of there being multiple versions of myself, now I had to deal with there being a criminal in my house.
I started snooping around my house, starting at the outside, looking for someone, and then moved to the inside, where I found my phone. Not stolen, not in another dimension, but on my kids’ bedroom floor.
Then how did someone answer it? Well, it appears I called the wrong number.
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