This year at Mardi Gras I lost my phone. After a full morning and afternoon of
drinking and parades and walking, Amanda, Shannon, and I bought some pizza and
sat down on the curb to eat. I had
my phone in my lap because we were communicating with a friend who we were
trying to meet up with. (It is
nearly impossible to meet up with people during Mardi Gras). As we were eating, someone walked by
and kicked over a half-full cup that was near our perch on the curb. We all jumped up to escape the river of
watered down booze that came splashing our way, shuffled down the gutter a few
feet and plopped back down to finish our dinner. Almost immediately, even as drunk as I was, I noticed that I
didn’t have my phone. I searched
my bag frantically and not finding it I sprang back up and with my eyes combed
through the discarded beads, napkins, cups, and general mardi gras garbage that
was in the gutter near where we had been sitting moments before. Nothing. I kicked aside the damp trash but still found nothing. I enlisted the help of three strangers
who noticed my panicked searching, to avail. Facing the fact that my phone was probably in the possession
of someone else I did my best to suck it up and keep a positive attitude. Pouting about it was not going to bring
my phone back. Our party moved on
and finished the night up at Molly’s on the Market.
Wednesday
morning came with no sign from my phone.
Texting and calling it was not producing any response. I called the police station on the off
chance that someone had actually turned it in. As the afternoon rolled around I was giving up hope. Assuming that someone had picked it up
and planned to turn a few bucks for it.
I had begun looking at the cost of a new phone and making plans on how
the heck I was going to afford to buy a new one when Amanda’s phone rang. On the other end was my friend who
lives in Brooklyn. She told me a
man had called her and that he had my phone!!! I hung up and immediately called the number. The guy gave me his address and I said
I would be by to pick it up. My
friends came with me because they were sure it was an elaborate rouse to kidnap
me and use me as a sex slave. As
it turns out it was just a nice dude who had lived in New Orleans for more than
20 years. It seems that he has
made something of a habit of finding lost phones in the French Quarter and
returning them to their owners.
One year he said he found three phones and all three made it back to
their homes.
Stranger
danger can be a good motto to live by, but I am lucky to say that in my
experience the kindness of strangers has far out weighed the danger.
