According to my many masters, I should be using this time on another cross country flight to write something thoughtful about my most recent podcast, or my mom’s latest book, or my grandfather’s extraordinary whiskey, or the newest episode of The Story Behind the Story, or the latest developments with mikeroweWORKS and our new initiative with the Pentagon that’s necessitated today’s trip to our nation’s Capital. But never mind all that. Because the only thing on my mind at the moment, as I hurtle through the friendly skies somewhere over Kansas, is the profoundly unhealthy reliance I’ve developed on my smartphone, and sheer panic that occurs when I lose the friggin’ thing.
Like so many of life’s unfortunate moments, this one unfolded in the men’s room at SFO. I was standing at the urinal, offloading a few liters of Pete’s Coffee, and chatting on the phone with my business partner. Mary Sullivan was already in DC, and we were trying to coordinate a number of meetings after my arrival at National airport five hours hence. (Thanks to my airpods, I can multitask pretty much anywhere these days, much to Mary’s chagrin.)
“Are you in the bathroom?” Mary said. “Did I just hear a toilet flush? Seriously?”
After 20 years in business, we don’t have a lot of boundaries. At least, I don’t.
“Of course not,” I said. “I just walked past a janitor with a vacuum cleaner. Now, what were you saying?”
I put my phone on mute, placed it on the tile shelf above the urinal, and waited patiently for the coffee to make it’s exit complete, as Mary outlined the day’s events. When I finally finished, I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and left the can in a hurry, fast walking toward my gate. My flight was boarding, and I like to get on early, especially when I’m in the bulkhead. I took the phone off mute and told Mary where to meet me when I got to DC.
“You’re breaking up,” she said. “Are we meeting at the hotel or the Pentagon?”
“The hotel,” I said. “I’ve got a change into a suit and tie or they’ll never let me in.”
“You own a suit,” she said? “Since when?”
But then, as I scanned my boarding pass and headed for the jetway, the connection turned to static, and Mary was gone.
“Hello? Mary, can you hear me?”
For a moment, I assumed she’d hung up on me, a not uncommon occurrence. But then the static returned, and I realized what had happened. My airbuds were out of range, because I’d left my smartphone on the shelf above the urinal. Not smart.
I spun around in the jetway and bolted back toward the bathroom, dragging my bags behind me. I was freaking out, but felt a surge of relief when Mary’s voice was back in my ear, through a field of static.
“ike?…an’t ear ou…Pentagon…you there?”
“Yes, I’m still here! Keep talking! I left my phone in the can!”
“I knew you were in the bathroom!” she said. “What’s the matter with you?”
I reentered the lavatory and found the urinal I’d utilized just a few minutes before, but the phone was no longer on the shelf.
“Crap! My phone’s not where I left it!”
“Well, it gotta be close,” said Mary. “I can still hear you!”
There was a man standing at the urinal I’d just vacated.
Breeching all sorts of bathroom etiquette, I tapped him on the shoulder. “Pardon me,” I said. Did you by any chance notice a smartphone on the shelf?”
The man jumped, went briefly off-target, and replied in a language I’m not familiar with. But the man standing next to him answered for him.
“Was it an iPhone? Blue case?”
“Yes!” I said. “That’s the one. Do you have it?”
“No, but I saw the guy who picked it up.”
“Guy? What guy? What did he look like?”
“White shirt. Ball cap. Tall. He asked if someone had left it behind and then walked out with it.”
I ran from the bathroom and into the crowded terminal, searching for a tall guy in a white shirt and ballcap, trying not to think about how complicated my day would become if I had to leave my phone behind. Everything I needed was in that stupid phone. Confirmation numbers, reservation details, and a special code to get me into the Pentagon. How would I call a Lyft once I landed? How would I coordinate with the dozen or so people who were waiting for instructions 3,000 miles away?
In my ear, I could still hear Mary’s voice crackling through a field of static, which meant my phone was still nearby, but on the move. But in which direction? To my right, hundreds of travelers were making their way to the exit. To my left, hundreds more were headed to one of thirteen different gates.
“Ladies and Gentleman!” I yelled. Did anyone find a smartphone in the men’s room?”
Dozens of heads turned on a swivel, curious no doubt, to see what sort of cretin would use a smartphone in the commode. Several people recognized me and walked over to say hello, but no one had my phone. So, I stood on a nearby chair and asked again, this time in my full-on outside voice.
“ATTENTION IN THE TERMINAL. DID ANYONE FIND A SMARTPHONE IN THE MEN’S ROOM? IT’S AN IPHONE IN A BLUE CASE WITH A CRACKED SCREEN PROTECTOR! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! MY PLANE IS ABOUT TO LEAVE AND I’VE LOST MY PHONE!!!”
I was struck by the panic in my voice and surprised by my inability to think rationally. If I went to Lost and Found, I’d have to leave and come back through security. There was no time for that, and now, Mary’s voice was no longer in my ear, which meant the person with my phone was getting farther and farther away, but again – in which direction?
I ran back to my gate, scanning the crowd for a tall guy in a white shirt with a ball cap. Still no luck. At the gate, I asked the agent to get on the PA to see if anyone had picked up a smartphone that didn’t belong to them.
“Certainly,” she said. “When did you last have it?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” I said. “I left it in the men’s room.”
The agent didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Just a slight arch of an eyebrow was enough to convey her disapproval.
“Attention in the Terminal. If you’ve found a smartphone just a few minutes ago – in the men’s room – please bring it to Gate E8, immediately.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m gonna go look for a tall guy in a white shirt and ballcap. Don’t leave without me!”
“The doors close in five-minutes, sir.”
I left my bags with the agent and ran back to the urinal where all my trouble began, marveling at my level of anxiety. How had I become so reliant on such a small device, and why was I feeling so utterly distraught at the prospect of never seeing it again? I was feeling physically ill, electronically naked, and completely helpless, when I noticed a guy in a white tee-shirt, pacing around in front of the restroom. He wasn’t that tall and he wasn’t wearing a ball cap. Neither was he waving my phone over his head, as I would have done if I’d found a phone in similar circumstances. Nevertheless, I walked up him and said, “Excuse me, but did you happen to find a blue smartphone in the bathroom?”
“Holy shit,” he said. “Are you Mike Rowe?”
I wasn’t exactly rude, but neither was I the gracious, avuncular version of myself I try to be in public. “Yes,” I said. “I’m Mike Rowe.”
“My name’s Matt,” he said. “I grew up watching your show.”
“That’s nice,” I said, as we shook hands. “I’m very happy for you. Now, did you find a smartphone or not?”
“Yes!” he said. “I did! Is it yours? That’s so crazy! I found Mike Rowe’s smartphone!”
“Matt,” I said. “Where is it?”
“Oh, I gave it to the gate agent over at E5. It’s the closest gate to the bathroom, so I figured that would be the smartest place to leave it.”
I sprinted to Gate E5, twenty feet away, and there it was, on the counter next to the gate agent. I grabbed it and fought back a tear.
“Matthew,” I said, “you’re a lifesaver.”
“Cool,” he said. “Can I get a selfie?”
“Hell, if I had time, I’d hire someone to paint us a portrait.”
Matt grabbed a selfie and I sprinted for my gate, where I boarded with several seconds to spare. As I collapsed into the bulkhead, cradling my smartphone, I requested a Bloody Mary before takeoff, and got one. Now, three hours later, I’m somewhere over Kansas, pondering that which keeps us connected, and wondering if should awaken my seatmate, or try to climb over her on my way to the bathroom.
Either way, I won’t be taking my phone with me…
PS. Matt, if you’re out there, thanks again. Had I thought to grab a selfie I would have shared it here. If you see this, post yours in the comments, and I’ll replace the AI slop posted here…