My colleague texts me.
A cell phone that was stolen from her desk several years ago (by one of
our cherubs) has been found by a teenager, a student at a local Vo-Tech school,
and it mysteriously turned up in his home … alive. The phone is still charged and still working
and still has all of the original contact info in it, which is how this kid
found its rightful owner.
It is a haunted phone.
It has returned from the dead to stalk my co-worker.
I research all kinds of Dead
Man Walking names, real Helter Skelter type things. Then I figure we'd better name this haunted
phone Casper. Casper the Friendly Phone. Let's
be safe not sorry.
It's too bad I have to run and vote Tuesday. I mean, it's not too bad I'm voting; it's too
bad I can't hang out after work because she is going to meet the teen who found
her phone. I am really curious to hear
the story behind its discovery, and I would like to piece together the trail of
its journey.
I would truly enjoying scrolling through the contacts and
pictures to see where the damn thing
has been. I mean, where the holy thing has been. Damnit! I mean, lordy,
lordy, lordy. Within reason, anyway. I don't need to see any pictures that might
gouge out my eyeballs. I do have some
parameters and common sense (and yet I suspect a cell phone is possessed by
evil … go figure).
My young colleague texts me from her new phone, and we
attempt to fit the chunks of information together ala Sherlock Holmes and
Watson, or maybe we're Scooby-Doo and Shaggy.
Unfortunately we'll never be Daphne, neither one of us, no matter how
many Halloween supplies are leftover from last week (which is fine with
us). Regardless, this is a mystery
amongst mysteries, and it's all growing curiouser and curiouser.
As much as my own curiosity about Casper the Friendly Phone
is piqued, I will have to answer another call, equally perplexing - the call of
political duty. I'll go vote, though the
polls show all the races to be neck in neck, so I'm not sure how any of them
stands a ghost of a chance of clear cut victory. Which means we'll be haunted by a different
calling, one that smells of scandal, reeks of infighting, stinks of
name-slamming, and screams of ballot-stuffing.
Talk about Helter Skelter.
Lordy, lordy, lordy.
