After much toil, sweat, and just short of tears, my phone was found yesterday at approximately 2:14 p.m., after having been missing just under 24 hours.
I looked everywhere possible, at least three times. I cleaned the kitchen and living room very, very thoroughly looking for my phone.
I don’t think you understand me when I say “thoroughly.” I did your basics first: looking in the couch cushions, under the couch, under tables and cabinets, all to no avail.
Phone nowhere to be found, it was time to level up.
My dad found the satellite location map of my phone, which showed where in the house my phone was: either the living room or family room. That meant it was time to comb more.
I went over (AGAIN) all the obvious places; maybe I just missed it the first time. But no, it wasn’t there.
I lifted the couches onto their backs, looking under them in full light. No.
Not deterred, I looked in the couches. No, not the cushions–I looked in the couches. Like, inside of them.
I popped a few staples off of the canvas, grabbed a flashlight, and looked inside of our couches. My phone wasn’t there.
Literally every inch of the living room exhausted, it was time to move to the family room, downstairs. Repeat the process: cushions, under the couch, in and under the big brown chair, under tables, my entire desk–it wasn’t there.
So I watched some Parks and Recreation and began to inwardly mope. The only apparent explanation was that there was a community of gremlins that lived under our house and they had taken my phone, along with an inordinate number of socks.
But as I lay there, watching Parks and Recreation, I decided one more pass under the cushions couldn’t hurt anything. I knew it HAD to be in the house somewhere.
My arm up the the elbow, I found something. Not my phone, but a spark of hope: there was a hole in the canvas.
Carefully maneuvering my arm into the springs of the couch, I felt something; a familiar, comforting feeling. There was a smooth, cool glass screen beneath my fingertips.
I froze, hardly daring to believe that my phone had come back to me after all these hours separated. Through the haze of relief and disbelief, my fingers clutched firmly around my phone, unwilling to let it go.
Pulling it out of the depths of the couch, I inspected it. No additional scratches, all appeared to be in place, at 32%.
Singing silent praises, I hooked it up to its charger.
And finished my episode of Parks and Recreation.