At some point after Steve died, I bought myself a new Palm Pilot. (A Palm III, to be exact.) I figured it would help me stay organized wherever I landed professionally. Plus, it was the gadget of the moment and I had to have one. And throughout my first day at Hickory Hill, while I never pulled it out and tap-tap-tapped away on it, I kept saying to myself, “this is going to be so helpful as time goes on.”
Calling Mom
With my windows shut tight and the air conditioning blowing full-blast, I edged my car onto the road in front of Hickory Hill. I could not believe all that had happened in the span of 12-plus hours and that I had to go back.
I can’t remember if I’d promised to call Mom after my day ended or if I just wanted someone to share all this craziness with, but call her I did. Remembering that my phone still wasn’t hooked up at home, I pulled into the quaint gas station where I’d earlier bought ice, parked and let loose a heavy sigh. I’d have to get out of my blissfully icy car into the humid June night to make this call.
“I’ll make it short,” I thought. “I’ll just tell her that it was a long day, it’s hot, I’m at a pay phone and I’ll call her when my phone is hooked up.”
Standing at the pay phone, I pull my Palm Pilot out of my pocket to look up my calling card number. (Tangent: communications was really complex back then: calling cards, land lines, long distance charges. Yeesh.) I dialed the litany of numbers, turned around and leaned against the phone booth.
Three rings and no answer. Hmmm…it was only 8:30 in New Mexico.
“Hello?” my step-father’s deep voice echoed in the phone receiver.
“Hi Bob. It’s Brett. Can I talk to my mom?” (Boy, was I all love and light.)
“Well,” he said, “I’m on the other line. Can she call you back?”
“No. I’m standing at a pay phone somewhere in Virginia. My phone isn’t hooked up yet,” I said tersely. (I didn’t realize just how terse until months later my mom recounted the conversation to me.)
“Oh. Okay. Hang on.”
While I waited, I looked at my surroundings. I was standing in a pool of light from a downward-facing lamp that, like the entire gas station, knew its heyday in the 1950s. Everywhere else dark. The air was thick with haze broken only by the chirpings and shufflings of bugs and animals.
God, I just wanted to be at home.
Mom’s happy, excited voice broke the syncopated symphony of the night, “Hi honey! How was your day? Is everything all right? Bob said I couldn’t call you back.”
“My phone isn’t hooked up yet, Mom, and I wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, how was your day?” she asked.
I don’t remember exact details of the conversation, but I do remember saying, at one point, something to the effect of, “I am so sweaty and disgusting, I think if I threw myself against a wall I’d stick.”
Where is my Palm Pilot?!
About 20 minutes after finishing the conversation with Mom, I turned down my street hoping that the parking gods were smiling on me and that a parking space would be easy to find. I found one, crammed my car into it, turned the car off and grabbed my Palm Pilot.
Except that the cup holder containing the Palm Pilot was empty.
Empty!
Empty?
Empty!!!
“It’s under the my seat,” I told myself.
It wasn’t there.
“It’s under the passenger seat,” I told myself.
It wasn’t there, either.
“It slid into the backseat floor,” I told my increasingly panicky self.
Nope. Not there either. And not in the glove box, map pockets, door cubbies, trunk, pants.
Nowhere.
Responsible vs. Irresponsible
Frustration and irritation capped my already palpable exhaustion. I realized that I last saw my Palm when I set it on the pay phone at the gas station.
Dammit.
Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!
And then that devil vs. angel debate (like in the cartoons where they pop-up on the character’s shoulders) ensued, except it was more “responsible” vs. “irresponsible”:
Irresponsible: It’s a wealthy neighborhood at an out-of-the-way gas station on a two-lane road. It’ll still be there in the morning.”
Responsible: Who are you kidding? This is Washington, DC. It’ll be long gone by tomorrow morning. It’s probably gone now.
Irresponsible: It’s tucked out of the way. It’ll be fine.
Responsible: Humidity, dumbhead. It’s super humid outside. That’ll destroy it. Also, it’ll get stolen.
Irresponsible: But…
Responsible (interrupting): Dude, you can’t afford to replace it. This is not how you were raised to treat your things…
Irresponsible (interrupting): You’re tired. It’s another 20 minutes there and 20 minutes back. It’s not worth it.
Responsible: Turn the damn car back on and get moving.
Irresponsible: It’s not going to be there.
Responsible: Shut up.
Finally
“Responsible” won. Twenty minutes later, as I walked up to the phone booth, there was my Palm. Relieved, I grabbed it, got back into my car and drove home.
At about 12:30 a.m. I crawled into bed so relieved that the day was over.
Finally.