Yesterday I was all out of sorts, I had a 10AM meeting I was running late for, and my mind was as always, predictably, somewhere else.
My taxi driver was a grizzled little old man who had to move his seat a wee bit forward so that he could step firmly into the brakes, or so I assume. I asked him to pass by the nearest gas station since I needed to break a five hundred-peso bill for fare—see, I’m a model passenger.
So we pulled into the station, and I think sometime during my harried juggling of a full bag, wallet, hairbrush, and lipgloss, my cellphone fell out. I didn’t even feel it, I was so deep into rearranging work stuff around in my head that when we reached the office, I stepped out the taxi minus my phone, rushed into my meeting, and was soon immersed into my work day.
I only noticed I was missing a phone around 5PM, and I just thought I left it at home, which I so often do. When I got home around dinnertime, I confirmed that I had indeed lost a cellphone. I sighed and that night, lying in bed, I tried to find which expense entry to sacrifice in my solo parent finances for a replacement phone.
Today at work, hoping against hope, I dial my cellphone number and lo and behold! a guy answers and he says, “Sure we have your phone, and you can drop by the office to pick it up anytime.”
(a few moments of reverential silence as a sea of jaws drop)
Yes, I am actually getting my phone back! It turns out my grizzled little old taxi driver found the phone and surrendered it to his office in the hopes that I would call to ask for it. And get this, he asked the guy at the desk to charge the phone and keep it turned on in the event that I might call. This dearest, is taxi love of the truest kind. I left a little something by way of a reward for my honest driver.
So now I’m happily reunited with my phone. And my belief in the inherent goodness of human beings is reinforced.
Let the taxi dancing go on and on and on.