A Boy and his BlackBerry

Reunited. And it feels so good.

There’s luck. And then there’s being really lucky. 

This is the story of how I got my phone back. It’s one that’s filled with despair, desperation and dedication.

It starts one fateful Sunday afternoon as I’m off to edit a three part series for school. There is no phone in my pocket – “one less distraction” I say to myself. At the time, it was the least of my concerns.

But it wasn’t.

Fast forward to 11pm. The scene: my living room, home to the frantic search for a cell phone that can’t be traced. Where is it?

Indeed where was it? Did I drop it?

Outside it was snowing merrily, with nonchalance as if to say, I’m here to trouble you more.

And off I go back to school. The great cell phone hunt has begun.

Plastic bags on my knees, double layers on, with my warmest hat, mitts and scarf I search amidst the snow – on all fours – for a tiny minuscule BlackBerry. A BlackBerry that is the very lifeblood of my fledging journalism career.

It was nowhere to be found.

Dejected I lay in bed, but not before sweeping my apartment’s parking lot one last time. The clock stuck 1 o’clock.

“I have a class in 7 hours,” I say to myself. “This is futile.”

And so Sunday turned Monday. And the search resumed. The snow was receding, the ground was slowly exposing itself. But still no BlackBerry.

“It’s going straight to voicemail. The phone is lost forever.”

But a part of me kept me from calling my service provider. No, I’d wait it out a bit more, unless there was drastic usage on my phone’s account. There wasn’t. 24 hours had passed.

For a guy who lived 17 years of his life without a cell phone, one day without one was tough.

It was rough.

But still, there was no cell phone.

And so Tuesday dawned bright and sunny. It was the perfect day. It was my day off, and all efforts were directed to locating this cell phone. I was due in Leamington on Wednesday. Would I be willing to make the trip with no proper means of communication?

Unlikely.

And then, almost as if something called out to me, I tried to track my phone online. It was just after noon.

There was a trace. Not two kilometres away. Suddenly there was hope. A hope that increased when the phone was accurately tracked to within 7 metres.

“But how did the phone reach there?” I hadn’t been in the area in almost three weeks. This was one of life’s great mysteries.

Four hours later, after some frantic dialing to see if someone will answer the phone, I set out to see who has my phone.

Now, there are plenty of stupid things that one can do. And this was right up there. Picture walking up a stranger’s driveway, and asking them if they had your missing (possibly stolen) phone? Crazy right?

But there was hope.

And so with an able sidekick in Greg, Starsky and Hutch, as he termed our duo, we approached our first potential location.

The door opens. And a man, morbidly obese with a vest and shorts, walks out.

“Can I help you?”

We didn’t know whether to talk or to run.

“I know this sounds weird sir. But would you have happened to have seen a cell phone?” I ask, nervously. “I lost mine and tracked it to one of these houses.”

“No, I haven’t sorry!”

And that was it. Was he lying? There was no way we could be sure.

The other house, his neighbour, was not home. And it was almost dark. The bubble of joy, burst.

Twenty minutes later, a little McDonalds cheered me up. I mean, is there anything that a McNugget can’t do? It was just past six o’clock now.

“Let’s give it one more shot before I drop you home Greg,” I say. “Maybe they’re home now.”

And so, back we go. This time there’s activity in the once empty house. Two cars are on the driveway. This is it.

I go up to the door, and ring the bell. Just like before.

“Can I help you?” asks a tall, greying man.

“Yes. Would you perhaps have seen a BlackBerry lying about? I lost mine, and tracked it to one of these houses. I know this sounds crazy.”

“No. No.” he said. “Is it a Z10?”

I was shocked and happy at the same time.

“Yes. A black one.”

“Come on in. My son found one yesterday in the Fanshawe parking lot.”

And once inside, his wife hands me a badly damaged cell phone. It’s still working, but the display would need some major repairs.

I didn’t quite catch their names. I’m now wishing I did as I recall my adventures.

“How did you know it was here?” asked the lady.

“Tracked it online. The phone was on and I got a signal.”

“That’s amazing!”

It sure was. And then we spoke for fifteen minutes, mostly about how I was able to locate the phone.

You see it turns out that Brandon, who works at Fanshawe College found the phone on Monday evening and took it home. He meant to bring it to school the next day, but forgot. His dad, a BlackBerry user himself, turned it on to see if he could try and reach the owner.

“That was the smartest thing you did sir,” I say exuberantly.

“It kept going off and I couldn’t answer it,” said the lady. “Wou

I’d thought I lost the phone somewhere. And the chances of finding it were pretty slim. But no, there was hope.

Brandon had saved the day.

I’ve tried to reach out to Brandon at Fanshawe a number of times now. But our paths don’t seem to cross. Sure the phone was damaged; a vehicle had driven over it. But Brandon had saved me a lot of money.

So Brandon, if you ever read this, and we’re unable to meet: Thank You. This means a lot to me. 

If we do ever meet, and I hope we do, there's a beer or two in it for you.