Sweet Tweets

Friday, December 11, 2009

Beware the back pocket

Considering how much I have flown this past year and half of Hunt's cardiology fellowship, I've become somewhat of an expert traveller. I pack reasonably well (I am still female with a need for multiple pairs of shoes), I manage to not check a bag every time, I can clear the aisle quickly like the flight attendants constantly tell us to, and I generally get there early enough to make it through security without a hitch.

You know what they say about growing comfortable? Well, I had a few mishaps this last time around. I remembered my cocktail dress, shoes and jewelry but forgot my toothbrush. I threw away my round-trip Marta ticket after only completing one leg of the trip. I offered my aisle seat to a man carrying a army-issue backpack and took his middle seat instead. Then I realized that he might have just gotten that at a surplus store since he wasn't wearing a uniform and my other seat companion smelled, no, reeked, of moth balls and something akin to kerosene. It wasn't until the end of the flight that I realized that I had not securely fastened the lid to my now upside-down water bottle and the entire thing had dumped out inside my carry-on at my feet. And then I decided that I would stop at the bathroom before my return ride on Marta.

I literally wrestled my small suitcase and dripping wet carry-on inside the bathroom stall (why, oh, why must the clearance between the toilet seat, door and stall wall be between 2 and 4 inches?!? It is near impossible to get bags inside the stall and shut the door without virtually standing on the toilet seat). In the movement of pulling down my jeans the iPhone I love and cherish catapulted from my back pocket and plopped into the toilet bowl. I knew what happened the second I heard it. I didn't hesitate. I plunged my hand in the germ-infested water and retrieved my phone. I hope I react that quickly for any children God blesses me with in the future.

Ugh. Oh. No. Ugh. Why?!? No. No. No!!!

As I stand there partially depantsed, I try to use toilet paper to dry off the delicate electronic wonder in my hand. And it only comes off one. square. at. a. time. ARRRGGHHH! This is not a shining moment. I manage to dry it off, get dressed, wrestle my bags back out and then scrub my hands in a manner that would have made an OCD maniac proud.

As I ride Marta I am tempted to whisper to my iPhone. To encourage it to not give up. To fight! To not let the water ruin it's insides and wreck it's microphones. And, not knowing any better, I try to see if it's working. Miracles of miracles it is. Kind of.

Every now and then it asks me if I want to go into "airplane mode" for some reason. I don't. I want it to go into "working as if I've never been dropped in a nasty 1,000 people per day occupancy of a toilet mode."

After allowing it to dry out, slowly, but surely, my super awesome iPhone came back to life. It works as it it has never seen the inside of a Hartsfield Airport toilet. Minus the case. I just couldn't convince myself that any amount of rubbing alcohol would remove the infinite number of germs from its not-genuine leather.

More good news: I haven't come down with a nasty case of e-coli infection. And my ear hasn't fallen off. Yet.

For another lovely example of the trouble I can get into while traveling, check out this oldie but goodie...

Happy travels during this Christmas season! And put your phones in your front pockets!

2 Remarks:

Shannon said...

Oh Meliss, that's the saddest story I've ever heard!! But thanks anyways for the laugh! :) Glad your phone is working again!

Tammy said...

Ugh! That's one of my worst fears! But you handled it all with such grace.... A mentor to us all! Love you!!!