Las Vegas, Part 3: Can You Hear Me Now?

On our second day in Vegas, one of our entourage loses her phone at the casino. This in and of itself is a potential catastrophe, but it is actually a nuclear-level emergency. Our venue tickets are on that phone. Not just one venue -- but three: the wax museum, the gondola ride, and The Sphere.

There are several positives here. Number one, we are still in the same casino where the phone went missing. Two, we discover that we have lost the device within twenty minutes of its disappearance. Three, the phone's owner only plays Wizard of Oz slot machines, and she had been sitting at two in this particular casino.

We check out the first and most recent slot machine, but the phone is not there. As we work our way back toward the casino entrance and, perhaps, some help, we try and retrace our steps to the first slot machine, ringing the lost phone as we go. Suddenly, the phone of the woman's sister starts to ring. The conversation goes something like this:

Did you just call me? I just got a call from K's phone, but it wasn't K!

Who called you? Did you get the number? Oh, wait. It was K's phone. Did they say where they were?

Aren't you in Las Vegas? Why is someone calling from her phone?

Hang up. We're calling the phone again. Hello? Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Is anyone there?

I'm tempted to yell out, "Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret!" 

It takes us about forty-five seconds to realize that no one can figure out who is calling to nor from the missing phone because the actual phone's owner has hearing aids in her ears. Relatives are calling her phone, and she can hear people talking but no one can hear her nor can they hear each other because, surprise, she has virtual ears on the conversations but no microphone. The microphone is in the hands of the mystery woman holding the actual phone.

There is some fumbling and then the mad pulling of hearing aids from ears. Finally, our call goes through to the person holding the phone, and communication can be had. It turns out that the cellphone has been picked up by a partially inebriated woman and her dour chum, and they are sitting at the first slot machine hoping that the phone's owner might return so they can get on with their lives.

We are all relieved that the phone is back in our hands, mostly because we don't want K without communication, but also because we really, really want to go to the other venues we have scheduled. For the rest of the afternoon, we tease our companion: Do you have your phone? Should we call you?

It gives new and multiple meanings to the phone ad, "Can you hear me now?" Thank Elvis, the answer is YES.