I saw my whole life pass before my eyes. All the people I knew: gone. All the plans I had for the future: gone. All the photographic memories I had of people and places near and dear to me: gone. And all because I dropped my phone in the toilet.
I had just landed on the second stop on a two-city work tour and went to use the restroom. If you've been in a public restroom (and I'm sure you have) you know that the stalls are not exactly large. Add to that a rolling suitcase, a backpack and a coat, and you need to be a contortionist to get all inside. I managed to get in, but now had to get out. However, the door was jammed. I yanked on it, and it popped open, throwing me off balance. And that's when I heard the sickening sound of electronics falling into water.
Studies show that some 25% of people have dropped their phone into liquid (toilets, pools, sinks, etc.), so the protocol is fairly-well known. Turn it off and shake off any excess moisture. Open it if possible and remove batteries and any other parts. Shake it some more, then use tissues to wipe out any drops. A coolish hair dryer can also help. And if you can, bury it in rice to suck out the moisture. Praying also helps.
I immediately started that last one first. (Actually I cursed, then reversed course.) In a flash I reached down and pulled it out and shook it off as quick as I could. I flew to the sinks hoping there was a hand dryer with hot air. Alas, paper towels was the best I could do. I grabbed a bunch, swaddled it tightly and hustled out to find a quiet seat where I could perform electronic CPR.
I peeled off the protective case and wiped it down. Coincidentally and unfortunately at the same time, I had just ordered a new phone because I noticed that the back of this one was splitting open due to a swelling battery. That also meant that what was once fairly-well sealed was not anymore. The entire side was open, enabling the dunk to coat all the innards. I pried the back open further and started vigorously shaking it. I think those waiting for a nearby flight to Cleveland thought I was having a seizure.
I was able to slip some towels in the open back. Seeing as how it was already broken I pulled it up further, cracking it but exposing more. I continued to shake, and blew gently across it. I had no rice, so this seemed the extent of my toolbelt. I pressed the power button, but the screen remained black. I started to contemplate my future.
By now it's a fact of life that our phones are our lifelines. They contain everything we need on a daily basis. And that's even more true when you're on the road. I wasn't sure what hotel I was going to, what time I was supposed to meet anyone, even how I would get there. All the keys to my world were tied up in a six-inch slab of plastic, metal and components. I started to contemplate my next steps: getting cash, a regular cab, finding a phone store to rejoin the living.
But then my watch vibrated with a new email. As it was connected to the phone, that could only mean that they were talking. Which also meant that while the screen was blank, the brains must be OK. I shook some more, blew some more and pressed buttons some more. A flicker: the screen flashed on, the off. That meant it was functional, even if it wasn't functioning. Maybe it just needed some time to recover. I repeated each of the steps, adding some encouragement ("C'mon, c'mon, you can do it!") And then some 30 minutes later, like a cat shaking itself off after a fall, it flickered to life. I tentatively pressed a few buttons. It all seemed to work. I might just have escaped, cracked back excepted.
As I said, a new phone is on the way, and I will certainly make sure it is secured the next time I enter a restroom. But accidents do happen, and you do the best you can. I'm just wondering if I need to add some Uncle Ben's to my traveling kit.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford is usually pretty careful. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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