Most of us think of our phones as indispensable commodities. One that when lost, our lives as we know it would come crashing down, a hail of flaming asteroids would fall to the earth, the zombie apocalypse would be preponed and everything will become effectively wrecked. Well, that's true. Two billion millennials can't be wrong.
So you’ll understand how flipped out I was beginning to get when I didn’t find my phone in my pocket when I reached out for it to facilitate the beautiful art of selfie-ing. I just finished a one-set game with Mike and it was my *first time on the court in 10 months so it was quite a milestone. No better time for a selfie.
I played for about 10 minutes at the August camps, but the gods of the game - if they exist - will strike me dead if I attempt to call that a game.
So I was flipping out. Mike, who had just thrashed me 6 - 0 in our one-set Tennis game (I don't want to talk about it) looked concerned. His eyes asking "what now?"
My face, once smiling, dissolved into mild shock as my brain parsed the enormity of what was going on. I dipped my hand into my racket bag, patted my numerous combat pockets. Crickets.
I looked back in the direction of the court. "I prolly forgot it on the bleachers," I said to Mike. My were looking for the seat I was on.
Mike grunted. I began to walk back in the direction of the courts. The National stadium at Surulere had three public courts and we played at the first court where you paid N300 for one session.
We were in Lagos. It’s where people walk confidently home only to realise they’d somehow lost their newly ordered Italian shoes. It wasn’t misplaced. Someone had just slipped it off their feet in the bus and replaced it with worn rubber slip-ons.
So you'll understand why I was worried about my poor phone. I had never lost anything in Lagos but I figured maybe this was going to be the first time.
I kept my eyes on the seat I used only a few minutes earlier trying to find the form of my phone. It soon came into view. I sighed, relieved. That feeling could have been compared to that of the father in the prodigal son story. The father, looking over the horizon for the form of his son every day hoping one day his head would shoot up over the conical dunes heading his way. And to finally see his son, ragged and crumbling, running home to him was pure joy.
I almost dove at the phone and cradled it. Mike was looking, smiling.
"Thank God you wanted to take a selfie," he said.
Yeah. Thank God, I thought. I also thought of how for a while I looked like Gollum with the ring.
How tomorrow would have been a sore clusterfuck.
How I could have lost my job for talking back at my EIC because my fuse was short.
How I could have walked into an oncoming traffic on my way home because I was absent-minded - thinking about my lost phone.
How my unborn child who I suspect will have cure for cancer will never be born.
How the world will eternally battle cancer because I forgot my phone at a Tennis game.
“Thank God,” I said, bursting into laughter.
I imagined God smiling, his lips stretched taught over his celestial teeth. I imagined him looking over at the patron saint of all who take selfies and giving her a thumbs up. "Good going Kim, good going"
While this account is true, my love for my phone here may have been slightly exaggerated. If how many cracks one's screen and back glass have is how love is judged, then I figure I love my phone a lot.
And shout out to this selfie right here. The MVP.
|Selfies. Saving the world since 2015.|
One more thing. I forgot the phone AGAIN at the local mama put where stopped to eat before heading home. Only then I threw into the lower combat pocket, the one with the buttons and snapped it shut.
Third strike, I don’t want to hear it.
Third strike, I don’t want to hear it.
Featured Image via: Xenderated