a lesson in fantasy

I had a bit of a weird one yesterday. I found a mobile phone on a step next to my bus stop. A nice little Sony Ericsson number. I looked around to see if there were any obvious candidates for a recent phone loss, but ended up pocketing it when my bus rolled up. I expected it to ring while I was on my way to work, what with phones being used as watches, mp3 players, deep fat fryers, calendars and all the rest of it these days. Not the case though and I had to turn it off as I headed through the office doors as I knew it was going to be back to back meetings all day. Driving the business forward, cascading information and general blue sky thinking bollocks do not allow for taking phone calls on a random mobile.

As the promises to adopt new ergonomic business practices were made, and a lot of bullshit wizened faces winced internally, I began to daydream about the possible owner of the sleek mobile phone in my pocket and our meeting later in the day. The best case scenario would be a strikingly beautiful, incredibly grateful lady, of course. She thought she would never find a man she could trust, but then I come along – having met her to return her missing phone in a chic café in the old town. We would gaze earnestly at each other as I eased my wedding ring off my finger under the table – making myself the man she’d been so desperate to meet. We’d go back to her place and I’d bury my head in the musty elegance of her, and gently bend her over her sofa and slip it in. (What a hero, come off it you twat)

Ok, so maybe it won’t be a fantastically fit female, maybe it will be a big hard bastard, who would be forever in my debt for my honesty. Without those numbers he couldn’t shrink his knob with steroids, talk to his bouncer mates about how tough he was and bell up his skanky dealer for more ego powder. He would be forever in my debt, and doubtless if I ever needed someone to knock about with who would make me look under muscled, he would be there for me. A gigantic, blue veined hand to hold me up and tout my inferiority to his dangerously inflated brethren.

Alright, so let’s think outside the ego here. Maybe it would be an Arab lad. We’d meet, get on well over the coffee he’d bought to thank me and eventually introduce ourselves. But you’re Jewish he’d say. ‘Half’, I’d reply.
‘But, I’m an Arab, why didn’t you go when you saw that the phone belonged to me?’
‘I was afraid you’d already seen me’ I’d say, with a wink and a broad grin.
He would smile, we’d shake hands, knowing that our prejudice was buried once and for all. Eventually, our positive vibes would break down social barriers between our friends and kick off an international trend which would result in the end to the Middle East Conflict.

I was walking home along the quays in the late afternoon sun switching these various possibilities around in my mind as the phone finally did ring.

‘Hello?’ I answered, a wee bit casually it seemed to me, but then she would understand.
‘Hello, you’ve got my phone!!!!!’ Screamed an adolescent male voice in comedic high to low breaking style.
‘That’s very possible, I-‘
‘Give it back you cunt, or your dead! I know people see, and I know where you are right now. My brother’s mate’s got this device, yeah, and it can track you, yeah, anywhere you go with that phone, you know. I know people. I need that phone back, yeah, it’s like, got my numbers in and that, and it’s mine. S’new as well, so don’t even think about keeping it, yeah, I need that fucker, and if you don’t give it back, like RIGHT NOW, you’s a fucking dead man, yeah, do you get me? I’m talking real style, yeah’
I found myself smiling, listening to this shit from this little turd-mouthed shyster and looking out across the water as the sun began to set. It was a moment of clarity, of sorts. A lesson. It made me feel quite surreal.
‘OK’, I said. ‘I’ve just finished using your phone to tell my mates in Australia about the eternal joy I felt as I viciously monkey-faced your Mum, so I do have a window of time free now. Where would you like to meet?’
‘Fuck off you CUNT! What’s monkey face, what you dun to er? I love my Mum, if anfing’s ‘appened to er I’ll fucking git you. Please don’t hurt er, I luv’s er.’ He actually sounded quite tearful, but my sorrow was buried a little too deep.
‘Look it up on the internet, my man, and, perhaps you might consider revising your first impression mode while you’re at it. I believe I’m going to monkey face your phone.’

With that, I heaved the prized piece of gleaming technology into the river and went to have a drink and think it all through. I mean, really…..