Stupid Mundane Garbage

So I lost my phone the other day.

This is pretty annoying for a lot of reasons, the biggest one is that I don’t have a phone.  Well, actually, I do have a phone, a second-hand Verizon model that would work fine until I either found my lost phone or broke down and got a new one.

In order to use this phone, though, I needed to deactivate my missing phone and reactivate the old one, and to do that, I needed a password. Which wasn’t my billing password, or my billing password after carefully checking that the caps lock wasn’t accidentally on, or my 4-digit password I often use for numbers-only security codes, and then crap! Too many attempts! Locked out of Verizon!

I called the phone company, with my account number, and they were happy to reset my password and send me a temporary one by text to my phone. I explained that I don’t have a phone. We went back and forth for a while, while I repeated my account number and social security number, and offered to recite every text I’d sent and received, or even admit to purchasing a Harry Potter ringtone in 2009, anything to prove I could use the account, when they realized that there was someone else on the account.

“Oh! Right! Stick! I’d forgotten about that! Right, that’s M-A-L-A-V-E-T-T-E, his date of birth is ##-##-####, and his social security number is ###-##-####!” (Note: I’d only use my ex-boyfriend’s personal information when I’m trying desperately to prove that I’m really me.)

I eventually got my temporary phone turned on with my temporary password. And I was happy that I done it without presenting a DNA sample, but if I’d needed to, I totally would have.

I happened to be GChatting with Stick when this was going down, although I was mostly using it to say how annoying Verizon was being and how weird I felt without my phone. It’s been really good talking with him, especially without it turning into how I always lose things and never remember things and why am I so bad at things normal adults do every day? (Note: Stick has not actually asked why I am so bad at things normal adults do every day, however, one can only hear me at admit to getting lost near my house, locking myself out, forgetting my gloves, leaving the oven on, failing to charge my phone, etc., etc., so many times before starting to wonder.)

Meanwhile,  I’ve been apartment shopping, and my goal had been to find a studio. The kind with running water and without rats is just barely in my means.

But I eventually decided that I wanted to live slightly below my reach, so I could possible have some savings and even have an emergency fund, where a surprise car repair wouldn’t be financial disaster. Not like I have a car anymore, but you know what I’m saying. I didn’t want to be financially crippled by a surprise expense.

Like, say, a replacement phone.

I guess I am getting slightly better at normal adult things.

Then, in the dramatic conclusion to the thrilling story in which our heroine is tragically thwarted from making phone calls, my phone was found on the train, right before I decided to order a new one. I went to the Hoboken train station to get it, and I practically jumped over the service desk to hug the girl who gave it back to me.

“I’m so glad it turned up! This is the greatest, thank you so much! You have no idea how great this is! Oh, sorry, I bet you do, I bet people say that all the time.”

“Actually no one says that.” she said, and I was back with my phone again.

But, first, I’d Spokeoed Harold’s phone number. I don’t have a normal, adult address book or anything, so I had to turn to internet stalking to call him back.

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