The day started out like any other. I got to work to find my cell phone had been left behind. No biggie. I mostly call BoBo on my way home from work but his cell was dead with a charger that has gone AWOL. Remotely, I turned on my extended absence greeting and went about my day.
Later on, I decided to call my phone to check voicemail. Much to my surprise, my phone was answered by someone with a strong accent and deep voice. It seemed that my phone was no longer where I had left it. Where was it now, and How did it get there?
What to do? I pondered a minute.
I’d left my phone by the kids’ computer last night. Oh course. If you were a boy, with a dead cell phone, it would be pretty hard to resist having a loaner phone that seemed to be waiting for you. Especially, when it already had most of your friends’ numbers on it thanks to an overly protective Mom? It didn’t take a sleuth to figure that one out.
Now, how would I get it back?
The gentleman with the phone ("GWP" for short) spoke Spanglish – a mostly Spanish with a touch of English form of communication. I could only determine that the phone had been dropped some place near apartments. My Spanglish, being a mostly English flavor with a touch of Spanish, was of no help in locating GWP’s whereabouts. So much for my 3 years of high school Spanish.