33F

I lost my phone on a plane today. No reason. No excuse. I was in 33F — next to last row — and by the time my turn came to stand up I was so ready to be off that plane I launched out of the seat and cracked my head on the overhead bin. The lady behind me looked at me with embarrassment. I smiled at her and got off the plane.

Grabbed my gate-checked bag at baggage claim, tore off the tags, pulled out my phone to call an Uber.

No phone.

Holy shit, where is my phone.

I went to American ticketing. She told me to go downstairs, everyone up here was busy. The guy at baggage service actually called the gate, then walked down to it himself. Came back: nothing.

So I pulled out my iPad and found it. There it was on the map — still on the plane, out on the tarmac, all alone. I put it in lost mode and started playing the tone. Somewhere out there, on an empty aircraft, my phone was chirping to nobody. They finally brought it out. Wallet, ID, credit cards, all still in it.

Very relieved.

Also, my passport was in my bag — because something like this happened to me once in New York.

Good times.