Oh Phone, Where Art Thou?

I have recently hit upon a new exercise program....sprinting for the phone.

We have two hard-lines, one upstairs and one down which we never use unless we happen to be standing next to them when they ring, and two cordless phones, one upstairs and one down which we always use so we don't have to exert any effort at all when they ring.

Unfortunately, this system only works when you can actually find the cordless phones.

Lately, I seem to have developed the habit of losing at least one of them for extended periods of time.

I will be travelling the house, happily chatting away while doing the laundry or the dishes or reorganizing a closet, and when the call ends, I simply put down the phone wherever I happen to be.

I tell myself not to forget it this time. I ask myself, "If I were looking for a phone, where would be the most obvious and logical place to look?" and then I put it there. Turns out it's not so obvious and I'm not all that logical, because I forget it more often than not, and then the hunt is on.

Usually, I don't realize it's missing until a call comes in and I can't hear the cordless ring. By then, I've moved on to another task, another room or another floor, and so I have to run for one of the hard lines before, God forbid, it goes to voicemail.

Now I would be perfectly fine with letting it do just that, but no one else in my life seems to be. The second it clicks over to voicemail, they all immediatly hang up and, as fast as their little fingers can punch the buttons, they call my cell phone.

This almost always necessitates another fifty yard dash since my cell phone is forever buried deep in my purse which is never in the same room or on the same floor as I am.

Back and forth I dash, stubbing my toes on door frames, banging my shins on couches and chairs and wondering why ten years of ballet as a child did not seem to have imparted the grace and coordination my parents hoped it would.

With no time to check caller ID before the call goes to voicemail and the whole nasty process repeats itself, I breathlessly answer the phone, gasping out a strangled "hello" only to find that I have practically killed myself to get a reminder from my dentist that my teeth need to be cleaned(Great, and due to your call, my toes need a splint too. Thanks ever so much).

Paging the cordless from the base is usually not an option because, nine times out of ten, it is either hiding too deeply within the bowels of the house to hear it, or the battery is dead.

Searching the house or trying to retrace my steps is only an exercise in futility and frustration. If I could hide our valuables half as well, we would never have to worry about being robbed.

Sometimes, it is in my closet, nestled amongst my sweaters on a cold winter day (did I think it was chilly?). Other times, it is stashed in the linen closet with Tin's shaving kit (was I planning on taking it on our next trip?). Once (or six times) , it was down in the basement hiding among the arts and crafts (maybe I thought I wouldn't lose it if it was decorated?). The best (or worst) temporary loss though took place recently.

For over a week, the cordless phone was MIA. It wasn't in any of the usual(or unusual) places. I paged, I searched, I offered St. Anthony(patron saint of things lost) money. I even cleaned out the fridge in the hope that I might find it buried in the back along with a half-eaten slice of cake from the Safeway. It was well and truly gone.

And every time the phone rang, I had to make a mad dash for it since our one remaining cordless phone was always on the other floor. I got more exercise that week than I've gotten in the last fifteen years. It got to the point where I could get to it by the middle of the second ring and I wasn't even winded!

Tim, however, did not seem to appreciate the health benefits of dashing for the phone, something about working hard all day and not wanting to run a mini-marathon at night. Whatever.

Just as we were about to finally call off the search, cave in and buy a new phone, Tim found it. Taking me by the hand Saturday morning, he gently led me to the back door and pointed out to the backyard where the grill sat...with the phone on top of it (I knew it had something to do with food!!!).

Surprisingly, it still worked even after sitting out all week in the intense heat and two or three rain showers. We tucked it back into it's little niche on the base and charged it, but I'm still doing my stretching exercises because I know it's only a matter of time before I'll be putting on my running shoes again.

Car Phone

A while back, my husband purchased a new car complete with a car phone. This is his third. Phone, not car. This rounds out his collection nicely.......car phone, cell phone and blackberry. Some people collect art, some rare books, my husband collects phones.
Ah, but this is different, even necessary, he claimed. This allows him to talk on the phone while driving, hands-free. It even has voice command, so he can dial without having to take his eyes off the road for a split second. It is easier, safer, and makes life better.
Easier? Faster than a speeding bullet, able to program any cell phone in a single instant......look, it's Tim. And this phone was kryptonite. First, a lesson from the salesman. Hit this button, pull this lever and talk. See? What could be simpler?
Several days, a trip or two back to the dealer and one shredded instruction book later, he had the names and numbers of family and friends installed, easy as pie. He also had the salesman's name and number installed whether he wanted it or not, since it was used as the test entry. We still call him occasionally. But not on purpose . Which brings us to safer.
Yes, he can make a call without having the distraction of holding a phone and pushing buttons. Just a flick of a lever, a simple command,"Dial name", and he is making the world a better place. A woman's voice calmly asks, "name please?". And then all hell breaks loose.
Tim says his brother's name. The phone calls his sister. He says his sister's name. It calls his cooworker. The names sound nothing alike, but it doesn't seem to matter to this phone. Willy-nilly, it randomly places calls. It's sort of like playing Wheel of Fortune. You never know whether you are getting the trip to Hawaii, or going bankrupt. Come to think of it, the voice does sound a little bit like Vanna......
Tim's response to this is to 1. push frantically at the end button twelve to thirteen times while shouting, "NO!!!!!" 2. jerk the lever abruptly and, loudly and with ennunciation that would make Henry Higgins weep for joy, repeat his request. 3. repeat steps one and two, changing the tone and pitch of his voice each time sounding like everyone from James Earl Jones to Tiny Tim.
When steps 1,2,and 3 fail to get results, he begins to add colorful words and phrases to his request, suggesting things that are not anatomically possible. Vanna, of course, remains calm throughout. She asks him, "Please repeat." It only goes downhill from there. So much for safer.
When he does hit the jackpot and is connected to the person he actually wanted to call, we invariably ride throuh a dead zone and watch in dismay as the signal bars click down to nothing. You do not want to know what happens then.
Yeah, easier, safer and better.