Childish Chronicles

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The great stolen phone caper

Tuesday, September 6th, 2011

It was my fault.

I was at a bus stop and, in a haze of preoccupation, I dropped my phone on the bench as I got up to get on the bus.

Two stops away, I realised I had no phone with me.

I ran back, a good ten blocks across town, back to the stop.  It was gone.  I asked some people sitting there, “Have you seen a red phone?”  And was met with a chorus of “Yes, someone just took it” in response.

I walked into a cafe chain at the bus stop and asked if anyone had handed in my phone.  No dice.  So I pounced on a pay phone and started calling my mobile.  And calling.  And calling…

I left one message asking if they could contact me to arrange returning the phone to its rightful owner.  Then I called, and called, and called again.  I left a second message, this time with an Oscar-worthy performance, attempting to elicit some sympathy: “A family member is in hospital and I… I just need to… sorry… I just need to know he’s okay…”  Then I hung up, called them a very dirty word, and I rang another ten times.  Then I gave up.

My mobile service carrier was my next stop, just across the road.  They blocked everything sans incoming calls on my number.  So I could keep harassing my phone’s captor.

No dice.

Other people tried to call me in the interim and, again, no answer.

Today, I activated a new SIM card with my number and put it in an old crappy phone, rendering my stolen phone useless without a new SIM of its own.

And that’s when I started to get weird calls.  Of course, I didn’t know they were weird because I have very little contacts on this phone.  So I phoned back missed call #1.  Got some older guy named “Alan” whose “friend gave me this number because I wanted to see if you know me.”

Um, what?  Wouldn’t you know if you knew me?  Why do you need me to tell you if I know you?  Have you had a recent accident which has lead to chronic memory loss and now you’re trying to piece your identity back together via random phone calls?

Yeah, that’s how my mind works.

Then I return missed call #2.  I hear a near-grunt and then get hung up on.  Then I receive this message from that very number:

Caller: Who dIs

And another message hot on its heels:

Caller: Dnt call

Me: I have no idea who you are but I have a missed call from your number. My phone got stolen so I don’t have any contacts. Must just be a mistake – K

Caller: Yeah I think It was my mate he saId he got a new number was ur phone a e-71 cause my mate got ur number and new phone

Me: Do you mean a Nokia e63?? Cos that’d probably be mine. Should not be able to use my number though.

Caller: That’s wat he was calling off

Me: Your mate has bought stolen property!

Caller: Maybe he stole it lol Idk he Isnt usIng It now

Me: Well, your mate should give it back.

Caller: To who

Me: To me – I have proof it’s mine. I can arrange a drop-off point so I don’t have to see who ‘found’ it – I don’t care. I need all my contacts back!

Caller: Talking to him now are you 100 per cent sure ur phone Is a e63

Me: Yes absolutely. Black Nokia e63. Was in a red skin when I last had it.

Caller: Well that’s the exact same one she had and same number jordan so It has been stolen jordan

Caller: Sorry that last bIt was for my mate

Caller: Do you know where u lost It do you have a car do u catch the traIn or bus and yeah I know now cause he has that phone and ur number I just wanna know where he got It from

Me: It was at the bus stop on Park St in the city outside Gloria Jeans. On the bus I realised I’d lost it so I got off and ran back to the bus stop. Asked people there about a red phone – they told me someone had just taken it. So I went to a pay phone and called it like 20 times! No answer.

Caller: Yeah Iv talked to hIm Is there any chance u know where [outer suburb of Sydney] is

Me: No sorry. Can it not just be dropped off in the city near where it was found?

Caller: We don’t live in the city u see my mates nan found It and she gave It to him and the second things were only teenagers were 14

Me: I see. Well, thank you for helping me out – you’re awesome! Turns out I have family who live near you so I might be able to arrange a drop-off point.

Caller: Yeah cool

Caller: Just letting you know It might not be as easy as I thought he has the grumps cause I told u or something but ill try work something out or he could just give It to the local police station and ur family can pick It up from there I think he Is abIt worried

Me: Yeah the police would be ideal, but I thought he might be a bit worried about going there. Was thinking maybe a cafe or post office or something – gonna ask my fam now and see where might work. Tell him I’m not mad and I don’t need to know anything about him – just want it back. Thank you so much!

Caller: Yeah all gud probs the police station but where ever ur family Is gud wIt that and yeah no probs

I gave them a drop-off point in their local area which will also be convenient for my family.  It’s like a hostage negotiation, with this – as far as I can tell – superhero mystery caller kid playing intermediary.

Caller: He said his dad Is gonna drop It In

Me: Brilliant. Thank him and his dad for me in advance. And thank YOU for being so freaking excellent! I really appreciate your help.

Assuming all the relayed facts are true, my negotiator is a rock star.  And then I get this one last message:

Caller: Yeah all good Im just waiting for hIm to reply and tell me when and when you get can u plz message me so I know he actually did It he said he Is going in the morning to take ur phone but yeah no probs

Yep.  Total.  Rock.  Star.

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Three Things Daley #41

Sunday, May 16th, 2010

…Battle scars

1. Heads. I have a scar on my top lip from when I was 2 years old. I was, conveniently enough, in the doctor’s surgery waiting room. I had a dummy in my mouth when another, older, taller kid came along and hugged me. Awww. Except the dummy’s plastic edge cut into my top lip. Imagine my mother’s delight at holding me down while the doctor did stitches. I screamed the place down and bled everywhere – including down the front of Mum’s white top. When it was done, I imagine the relief for mother and doctor would’ve been amazing. Amazing but brief. I wiped my mouth and managed to pull the stitches out. I deserve this scar, man.

2. Shoulders. I have a scar on my shoulder from the time I ran a little too close to a protruding nail in a very old, very dusty theatre. Oh fffff…iddle-dee-dee, that will require a tetanus shot.

3. Knees and… Hands. I stabbed my hand on a twig while downhill skateboarding (granted, there were three of us on it at the time) and still have the scar. I also had one of those big serated metal toilet paper dispensers fall off the wall and gash my left hand. It’s great that that’s the most prominent scar on my hands too – not at all embarrassing to explain. I accumulate wildly random scars on my hands, which makes me wonder if I should be allowed to leave the house – or even my couch – without gardening gloves on.

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Three Things Daley #38

Thursday, May 13th, 2010

…Bloody sticky situations

1. Bloody hell.  It was the dress rehearsal for an amateur theatre show of my favourite age-inappropriate role.  Mid-scene, I was bellowing at my stage husband, “Why don’t you love me?” and charged towards him.  I felt my bare foot slip.  The scene continued towards its tender ending, when I noticed my foot was sticking to the old, splintery floorboards on the stage.  At blackout, I went off stage and into the fluro-lit kitchen of the hall – drip, drip, drip went my blood onto the off-white lino.  I didn’t even feel pain until that moment.  Just stickiness.

2. ‘Reel Blood’.  I was playing a psycho in a short horror film.  I had to beat someone up.  The ‘blood’ we used was corn syrup-based.  Someone may have got it on the antiques in the old Victorian mansion we were filming in.  I’m just saying.

3. A thing about blood.  Be warned, some things stick and won’t leave – in this case, it’s the title song from Into the Woods.  Mthrfckr.

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Be a quitter

Thursday, December 31st, 2009

Guess what?!  This isn’t a TTD!  See?  I haven’t forgotten how to write things outside a numbered list.  Yet.

Unfortunately, though, this is a year-in-review entry.  I know, I know, these are annoying and irrelevent.  But I just looked at my 2008 round-up and I can tell you one thing – this one will be shorter.

2009 was easily one of the most arse-kickingest years of my life, if not THE most arse-kickingest (me rite gud).  And most of this is due to magical strokes of luck, rather than any wisdom or cleverness or deserving on my part.  Which is kind of annoying, in a way – it’s annoying to have tried so hard for so long, only to discover that, sometimes, quitting is the best decision you could ever make.

The one thing I didn’t explicitly say at the end of 2008 was that I had quit.  I quit performing.  I didn’t care if I never got on stage again.  I wasn’t emotional about it anymore, either.  I was just done.  Then I got an email from someone I respect a lot asking me if I wanted to be in a cabaret show.  That was one thing I’d never tried and I still loved singing.  So I said yes.  Little did I know what other huge events I’d end up saying yes to as a result.

Then came the job upheaval.  I had a choice to make there too.  To stay on and do more of the same (in a thinly-disguised ‘different’ package), or to quit and see what happens next.  I quit.  And, lo, it was amazing.

Yes, luck, luck, luck.  There’s been a lot of luck flying around for me in 2009…

I was lucky this year that, by sheer coincidence, I travelled.  A lot.

I was lucky this year to discover that some amazing people believed in me enough to put me on stage without me having to beg or to organise it myself – other people actually said ‘yes’ to my brand of silliness.  And, in the process, to realise how much I still love being ‘up there’.  And to find guidance through a most excellent vocal coach.  Yeah, all this stuff kinda rocked.

I was lucky this year because a global financial crisis meant I was granted a second chance at, well, life.

I was lucky this year that, for one mad month at least, I got a glimpse of what life could be like if my luckiness became more permanent.

I was lucky this year that my long-held theory that I could be a freelancer has come to fruition.  So far, so good.

I was lucky that, once again, my resolution to have “more music in my life” continued to be realised.

I was lucky that, all the learning about fun I did in 2008 paid dividends in 2009.

I was lucky that I’ve not only kept all my delightful friends, but I’ve made some amazing new ones who I hope continue to influence me in wacky and wonderful ways.

And I was lucky this year because I, and the people closest to me, have remained healthy and safe.

(actually, my health track-record for 2009 was impeccable – two minor colds… and that’s it.  BAM!)

Luck, luck, luck.  It was everywhere this year.  I have no idea why.  And I have no idea what lies ahead for 2010 – whether it could possibly be as fortuitous as this year.  Or more so.  Or not.

But for this year I am immensely grateful.

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Three Things Daley #14

Wednesday, December 9th, 2009

…Close calls

1. I scream.  I was buying a double choc-dip from the ice cream van one afternoon when I was 11.  After our transaction, I had the cone in one hand and 80c worth of change in 10c coins in the other.  I stood in front of the van, about to cross the road, when he started his engine up like he was going to drive through me.  Suitably spooked, I ran out onto the road without looking.  And that’s when another car drove past and sent me flying.  At the top of the road, the driver got out of her hubcap-deficient, tinny, off-white vehicle.  “Are you alright?” she bellowed from the top of the hill.  “Yes,” I replied with a wobble.  And off she drove, leaving me sitting on the road surrounded by 10c coins, with half an empty cone in my hand.  My friend who saw the whole thing from across the street laughed.  “‘S not funny,” I told her.  The ice-cream man beckoned me over and gave me a free replacement double choc-dip – not that I felt like it anymore.  Had I been a moment sooner, I’d have surely gone under this car.  But as it was, my ankle, which bled because of the exposed screws on the shi!ty car that hit me, was the only thing injured.  Well, that and my faith in humanity* - and my taste for soft-serve.

2. Intoxication.  Back in Edinburgh, I did a wee video tour of our apartment.  This included showing “the people watching at home” our refrigerator, which was packed with a metric f’tonne of wine.  My favourite was one marked “ROSE”.  And I say “ROSE” because it was, without exaggeration, labelled in about a 700 point font.  In the process of dragging out the “ROSE” to show “the people watching at home”, I nearly smashed about 15 other bottles, in a cascade of glassy booziness.  Again, all’s well that ends well – no wine was harmed and, best of all, I caught my idiotic slapstick moment on video.

3. Dodge.  I was at the circus fairground dodge-’em cars once when I was 8 years old or so.  To this day I love dodge-’ems.  I hate spinning, I hate being upside down, I’m not a massive fan of heights.  But I can definitely get on board with a need for speed.  And if a few crazy collisions are involved, all the better.  I held my breath watching as the cars zoomed round and round when I saw it.  The purple one.  In that blurry, song-filled moment, I knew – I had to have the shiny, deep-purple metallic dodge-’em.  I watched it like a starving bounty hunter in the wilderness watches a wild boar – or an episode of Jamie Oliver via portable TV (an essential item for any adventurer).  Round and round it went until, finally, all the cars started to slow.  Determined to get my purple racer, I ran out onto the track.  Except they didn’t stop.  The cars all sped up again, and my beloved purple car came tearing towards me.  It hit me, I bounced onto the ‘hood’, and the guy driving it grabbed my arm and held onto me.  There I was, flailing about on the front of this little car, with a guy steering with one hand – and saving my limbs** with the other.  It was a close call, but fortunately it worked.  I got the purple car.  Oh and, like, I didn’t die (Darwin Awards, anyone?).

*Okay, it’s not THAT bleak.  But what a moll – am I right?
**People like him cancel out people like Mollface McMoll in the first story.  But, you know, that’s also a close call.

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