“Hello,” said the lady as she pushed her stroller back into the restaurant about ten minutes after leaving it. “We lost our iPhone, did anyone turn it in?”
Her husband stood behind her looking either irritated or constipated, I’m not sure which. Seeing that he had just had me as his server and eaten food cooked by Juan, it could be either one.
“I haven’t seen one, no. I’m sorry. Are you sure you left it here?” I asked.
“Well, I gave it to my son to play with and he was holding it when we left. I think he dropped it out on the street and I thought maybe someone would have brought it back here.”
Sure, lady. Because whenever someone finds an iPhone on the street, they just take it to the nearest restaurant. That’s how this world works. Like, if you find money on the street, you take it to the nearest bank and then they find the rightful owner. Uh huh.
“I’m really sorry, but no one has turned one in. If you want to leave your contact info, we’ll be sure to call you if we find it.”
“Like someone is really gonna find it and then turn it in,” said her husband.
I silently agreed with him and wondered why they thought it was good idea to let a two-year old child use a $500 phone as a toy.
People leave things in the restaurant all the time. One thing that I have found a few times is a cane. This is very odd to me. If they needed a cane to walk into the restaurant, did they not need it to walk out? Do I work in a place that has magical healing powers and it makes people not only not need a cane anymore, but it also makes them forget that there was a time, only an appetizer and an entree ago, that they were slightly crippled?
“Can I leave my number in case someone finds the phone and turns it in?” the lady asked me. “It’s worth a shot, I guess, right?”
“Absolutely,” I lied.
Her husband continued to look angry and when I looked down at the stroller, I saw that the child was now holding an iPad. Because if your child is too young to take responsibility for an iPhone, then by all means, give him an iPad too.
“Okay, I’ll write down my contact info. Umm, I don’t know any of my phone numbers without looking at my phone. Honey,” she said to her husband. “What’s your phone number? And let me look at your phone so I can see what our land line is.”
The husband handed his phone to her, which I noticed was a Blackberry.
“Honey, I dunno how to work a Blackberry. Can you just tell look up and see what our number is? Oh, wait, I’ll just give them my email address.” She looked at me. “That way, if you find the phone, you can email me. Oh wait, I won’t be able to check my email until I am at home or the office. Honey, I’m going to give them your email, is that alright? What’s your email address?”
“The phone is gone. You’re not getting it back. Let it go,” he said.
The kid continued playing Candy Birds or Angry Candy or Crush the Fucking Angry Birds or whatever the hell they thought was good for his four-year old brain.
“Just tell me what out land line is,” she spat out through clenched teeth.
She jotted the number down on a bev nap and they left. I went to the bulletin board and placed the note there right next tot he other notes that no one would ever pay attention to, like the one that said “No cell phones on the floor” and “Kevin needs his shift covered. You own me, guys!!”
It is doubtful they will ever see that iPhone again but since they seemed to learn nothing, I feel it will only be a matter of time before they step into their dry cleaner’s and ask if anyone turned in an iPad that their son was playing with when they were in there the day before to pick up some shirts.
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