“Sorry, I’m Just Not Myself Today”

Anthony DeCaprio

Noted American author Joe Hill once wrote, “To be honest, I think cell phones were invented by the devil.” So, it was with no surprise this past Saturday morning that my cell phone turned the above quote into a living nightmare from Hell.

Have you ever heard someone say, “My phone is my life and I would be dead without it.” I fit into this category, as I am sure many others are, and with that, was in a deep panic when I could not locate it just after sunrise early this weekend. “Relax hon. Here, just use my phone and give yours a call. We’ll hear it ring,” my lovely wife Christine said in a reassuring voice from her side of the bed. “It’s got to be here somewhere.” I anxiously dialed my number and smiled when I heard it ringing on the floor under our bed. “Whew!” But after I answered it, I unexpectedly heard a familiar voice on the other end and was immediately teleported into my personal episode of The Twilight Zone.

“Hey Ant it’s Mark. The pickleball game you planned for the four of us later this morning? Well, some changes, bro. I know you sent out emails to everyone last week, but Jimmy can’t make it and I think Donna might be sick. If you could call Larry and ask him if he and his wife could fill in, then maybe we can play. Gotta run, bro. See you there,”………………. Click. 

Huh? I looked at my wife and thought this exchange was pretty weird and why would someone else would be answering my phone? I explained to Christine that I just heard Mark on the other end and again, he never let me get a word in before he hung up. She jokingly made the Twilight Zone reference but then said, “Why not try dialing yourself with your own phone? Just for ha-ha’s.” I skeptically agreed, stared for a few seconds at my phone, and dialed my number. The classical xylophone ringtone rang out and the mild vibration in my left hand happened, as expected. “Okay, here I go, answering my own phone call.”

I accepted the call and put the phone to my ear. Just before I could inquire, “Hello?” Christine gave me a mild poke in my side and shot me a look as if to say, “Hey what about me?” I placed the phone into speaker mode, turned up the volume, and spoke into it. “Hello?” A very loud and frantic female voice filled our tiny bedroom. It had a high pitch shrill reminiscent of someone sawing a cat in half. “Anthony! Anthony! Anthony!” came through loud and clear and I knew it was my older sister Eloise, but the next ten seconds made absolutely no sense. It was about her third sentence that I figured out she was telling me her water heater split in half and her basement was in the process of being flooded, and in her words, “was beyond FEMA standards!” Just then, my brother-in-law Don spoke and told me, in a much calmer voice, that he located the water shut-off valve and that he has a plumber on the way. It’s sort of funny that in all my sister’s distress, my only thought was, “Why the heck was she on the other end speaking to me after I dialed my own phone?” Before I had the opportunity to pose that dilemma to her, Don said to me, “Dude, this is serious. I’ll buzz you later when we dry out.”…………….. Click.

 I looked at Christine, very confused and mildly amused at what was taking place. She looked back at me with a quizzical gaze and made the first attempt at a resolution. This is where the aforementioned “Twilight Zone” reference came forward. I honestly could not offer a defense of the situation, but my curiosity told me to make one more call.

I dialed my phone again. “Hello, we’ve been trying to reach you regarding your car’s extended warranty!”……… CLICK!

One more time.. “Have you found Jesus?”

Again.. “911, state your emergency.”

And again.. “Joe’s service station. We treat your car like a baby, although it’s old enough to smoke.”

I asked Christine, “What the heck is going on? I certainly don’t have an explanation. Is there some sort of reset mode on this thing?” I recalled when I was very young, my dad’s limited technical servicing skills when something was not operating was to pull the plug out of the wall socket and turn it around. Obviously, this archaic advice is rendered useless with a battery operated phone. 

Christine finally found the correct solution, sort of reminiscent of my dad’s recommendation. I shut the power off to the phone and waited five minutes. It worked! When I restarted it and redialed my number again, the familiar voice recording on the other end offered me the standard option of message recovery and a host of other options my phone offered me. 

Maybe, just maybe, Joe Hill was right!