I had my mobile phone stolen the other day. It’s not too much of a problem in itself: I was on the cheapest plan anyway, just waiting for my contract to expire so I could cancel it altogether. It was just where it was stolen that intrigues me.
One would imagine living over seven kilometres down a dead-end dirt road from the nearest little town that you’d be relatively safe from thieves, which helps explain why most homes here are devoid of locks. But if you did imagine this, then I guess you’d be at least a little incorrect because on Saturday night someone came up our 500-metre long driveway, opened Tina’s (my trusty 1984 Corolla) passenger door, rifled through my CD wallet (and didn’t take a single CD! No accounting for taste), opened her centre consol and took my mobile.
The funny thing is I rarely lock my car anywhere, even in the city, so this rates a place beside Peter Jackson’s early films and Albert Einstein’s hair in the slightly odd basket.
But still, I’m at least a little bit thankful. Even though I rarely used it, I still found myself to be unhealthily attached to my mobile – checking it occasionally (when in range) to see if I’d missed any messages; using it while driving; spending a few too many brain cells calculating how best to get my $22 worth out of it each month. Now all that concern, all that involvement with a piece of plastic, is gone – literally out the door.
I’m sure you’ll appreciate that I have no intention of purchasing another. So if you do wish to speak to me in real-time (I may have lost a mobile, but I’ve still got geek speak), please call me on 02 6688 6307. Oh, and if you ever find yourself in the neighbourhood, be sure to drop by for a cup of tea, a dip in the creek and a stroll through the vegie patch.