Stolen Cellphone Dead and Gone Forever

My oldest son came home from school one day recently claiming that someone had stolen his cellphone. Considering that most everyone who has a cellphone misplaces it at least once a week, it was hard for me to take him serious. Especially when his average number of lost items per month is quadruple that of the average person. We went through the usual song and dance of trying to figure out all the places he could have left it. He was certain exactly where he had left it and when it was stolen. Suddenly, I had a remarkably intelligent idea. I called his phone to see if someone would answer. No luck. I’m not a great texter, but I tapped out a message and delivered it to my son’s phone stating, “Please return the phone to the office and no questions will be asked. Thanks.” Later that afternoon I received a reply. Word for word, it said, “Sorry, not happening, dude.” My knee-jerk response was to mentally edit a message in my mind for translation into text mode. The message would be short, witty, and profoundly insulting to the pilfering delinquent who lifted the phone and taunted me afterwards. Something like- “I’ve already contacted the phone company and they have tracked the phone and they know where you live, chump.” Or “God is watching you, and I’m looking for you.” A third possibility- “Get away from the phone. It has been reprogrammed to self-destruct in five minutes.” Instead, the portion of my brain that secretes good judgment prevailed and I quickly called the phone company and requested they kill the phone. Killing a phone would seem to be extremely complex, but within a minute, they assured me it was dead. They have no idea where it is but they can render it dysfunctional. Wonder if they could do the same to Osama Bin Laden? By that evening, my son had talked one of his friends into giving him an old phone. I thought we were in a recession. Apparently people have old phones they are willing to give to other people for free. Try to buy one at the store and see how much it costs. Once again, technology spun my head. One short conversation with a young lady at cellphone headquarters and the phone my son was holding began ringing with people on the other end asking for him. How do they do that? I’m still having trouble figuring out how television works and now they can destroy one phone and activate another one without ever looking at either. Impressive. And scary. So all is well now. But for a frantic four or five hours, a teenager was without a cellphone. Tragic. Especially considering that I was thirty-six when I got my first cellular and it was the size of a brick. Now most of them would fit into a matchbox. The teenager with the “new” cellphone entered the room and looked over my shoulder as I tapped out this column on my laptop a few days ago. “Tell them it’s not too late for someone to return my old phone,” he demanded. I told him I would mention it in hopes of it being returned, but I think I know the outcome. Sorry, not happening, Dude.