three moments in the day: phone

Saturday in the car, heading to the store, flipping the radio on to see what I can find. I don’t know why it occurs to me, but it occurs to me, and I reach down and touch my hoodie where the inner pocket is, where my phone should be.

Yep. Nope. It’s not there. I left the stupid thing at home.

Great. What if I get an accident on the way to the store? What if I have a flat tire? What if they don’t have any frozen corn, like any, at all, in the store, and I need to ask Stephen if he’d be OK with peas?

For a moment I think I'll turn back, but I’m already so far down the road. I’ll just have to manage without it. I can manage without it. 

Of course, Stephen may want to text me to tell me to add something he's forgotten to the shopping list, so when I get to the parking lot I'll just send him a quick text and let him know I'll be unreachable. 

Wait.

***

I’m pulling into the grocery store parking lot, winding my way around to the place where I always park. 

I didn’t have an accident. I didn't have a flat tire.

I drive down the row all the way to my usual spot by the cart corral. Touch my empty hoodie yet again. What if they don't have the frozen corn? What if they don't have the tapioca pudding and I need to ask Stephen if he'd be OK with rice?

I'd better send him a quick text and let him know I'll be unreachable. 

Wait.

***

I lead my cart out through the grocery store doors, across the asphalt, toward the car.

They did have the frozen corn, of course they did. They did have the tapioca pudding. 

There was that moment when I was waiting for the sales lady to unlock the chained-up jeans so I could try a few pairs on, and it was taking forever, and she said why don’t you go over to the changing room, I’ll come along as soon as I figured this out, and I went over there and parked my cart and waited, and I thought maybe of pulling out my phone to have something to look at, but yep. Nope.

We’ve become so reliant upon these little computers in our pockets that it's as if we can hardly function without them.

I load my groceries into the back of the car and then duck into the driver's side. You know, this might  make a cute little blog post, all the moments I kept thinking I could use my phone and couldn’t. I'll make a note of it. I grab my shopping list and turn it over, rifle around in the glove compartment for a pen. This one doesn't work. This one doesn't work. Fine, I'll just grab my phone and send myself a quick email reminder for later.

Wait.