FLUSHED AIRPODS DOWN TOILET

Life-Changing Experience

Again, the unexpected moment can change a life. No? I had one yesterday, as the title forewarns.

When it happened, I confess I laughed. A laugh of horror, of course. $250 speeding to the “water treatment” plant. I wondered if insurance would possibly cover such a stupid loss, but I’d never bought it, so money saved!

When I stopped chuckling, I thought—who could I tell? My Maryland daughter. She’d get a kick out of it, or would she? Once children reach a certain age, parents hesitate before sharing bumbling errors. We fear they have a secret chart hanging somewhere with tags noting “those signs.” Still of sound mind? Or, ready for the move? One day an event will ring the bell, light the fireworks, blast the horns. They’ll say": it’s time, take the keys and pack up the belongings.

Okay. Well, how about that friend? The other one? A third one? How do I decide who will be assailed with the tale? What’s happening in their day? Who wants this particular disruption?

I write it here after deciding that telling any person I know might undermine our friendship or acquaintanceship or what have you. Better to put it out in the ether. Let whoever be offput by the headline, delete the bit, make that face, and get on with the day. Believe me, I understand.

How could such a thing happen?

In the nano seconds reading the headline, a person (including me) would imagine me standing in front of the toilet looking down, a sudden spasm in jaw muscles loosens the hold of my tragus (had to look it up, but I’ve wondered in the past; rhymes with Vegas? Haggis?) which is made of what? Cartilage? That bit that may offer some protection to the ear’s sound tube and possibly the AirPods. Anyway, the traguses loosen and both left and right AirPods take a twin dive into the water below.

It didn’t happen that way.

I should precede the telling by saying my Maryland daughter and I have opined more than once, with an edge of scorn in our voices, the wonder that people could be so careless as to drop a phone in a toilet. A phone? Yes, there’s more to the story, I’m afraid. We blame men, she and I, holding phone in one hand, device in other, carelessness, etc. Women? How? Here’s how. In a word: wardrobe. In two words: wardrobe malfunction. In two other words: pocket tunic. Soft fabric, long and loose, somewhat floppy pockets large enough for, yes, phone and AirPod case. I hadn’t divulged that—the case. Sorry for late reveal. The AirPods were tucked into their white elegant Jobs-designed (by spirit) flip case, recharged and ready for use. The phone was nestled next to it. I was about to leave the house so I was taking that last quick barely-worth-the-paper visit when I heard a clink. A clink?! Looked down. Saw my phone. Horrified. Grabbed it no-thought-to-the-pee. After all! Wrapped it in TP. Reached back for a fast flush and stood, triumphant.

Reached into my pocket again. Empty. No question about it. I could pat it a dozen times, check the other one in case of stealth magic. Nope. No AirPod case, no AirPods. This action took 2-3 seconds. And that’s when I laughed. That elegant case, the color of porcelain, in that hasty flush, had sailed smoothly right through the gullet of the toilet into the great plumbing pipes of Maryland to be crunched or strained, whatever. Lost.

What’s a person to do but laugh! (Except for $250 or thereabout.) So the good ending is about the life change. Must check the board, my board, where I keep track of stupid things women do and stupid things men do and move the “phone in toilet” tag off the men’s side to the large center section where stupid things are done by all. A life lesson. Be wary of assumptions. A more generous attitude toward any rewards even the self. Sounds like something Gandhi may have said.

Will I tell Maryland and Iowa daughters? No way. They don’t read my writings, so safe here. On their boards, where they keep +/- track of Mom—compos mentis OR losing it—they will leave the tags undisturbed for another day.

So, no fees or pleas here. Thanks for giving my words a read—if you read this far.