(no subject)
I lost my phone this morning because women's clothing is horrible and I lost my magic bike helmet.
Now, I'm not the girliest girl you know. I usually wear pinstripe pants and a sweater (often a men's sweater) to work. Nearly all of my pants have pockets, because, although they are women's pants, they're styled a bit looser to allow me to put something in my pockets without stretching my pants so much that you can tell how many keys I have through the fabric.
WHY, then, WHY do so many of them have these ridiculous half-height pockets? The pants I am wearing today - their front pockets are, at the shallowest part, knuckle-height deep, and the back pockets don't quite button over my phone wedged in sideways.
So, there I am, rocketing over Cambridge streets and cursing the pavement in Harvard Square, when I hear a noise. I pull over and look - the plastic fork in the road that I thought I hadn't run over is in a different place, but another cyclist has already gone by. Is that what the noise was? I don't see anything else, and I'm late to work. I check - wallet - keys - work ID - all there, so on I go.
...until I get to work and reflexively poke my phone and it's not there BECAUSE OF THE GODDAMN DIRE POCKET SITUATION I FACE EVERY DAY.
Anyway.
At the advice of the nice lady at the cafe down the block where I park my bike, I called the phone number. Naturally, I didn't expect a good samaritan to have come by and picked up the phone to take care of it before it got run over by a car, so I was caught entirely off guard when a nice gentleman answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Uhhhhm.... hi, I uh... this.... um... who am I speaking with?"
"I actually just found this phone on the ground."
"OH GOD I was hoping you would say that. Are you in Harvard Square?"
"No, actually, I'm in Longwood, but I picked it up in Harvard..."
Turns out he thought it was a phone case. He was on his bike, so he stopped, put it in his bag, and got to work, only to discover that it was a whole phone. Then, I called. Poof! Although Longwood is not one of the natural habitats of the Molly, I was so flustered and amazed that he had picked it up and answered that I declared I would be DELIGHTED to trek down there and retrieve my phone from the front desk at his office.
All right. Thank you, Howell the benevolent cyclist. But the devastating thing is that this is the second major problem I've had on my bike in the last day, ever since I lost my valkyrie helmet. How did I lose my bike helmet? Isn't it always, you know, with the bike? Yes, yes, it is, but last week was a little odd. So last night when I went out, I put on an inferior-looking red skater helmet and then nearly got hit by a car. Very, very nearly. Now the phone.
Clearly I need: new pants, and my beautiful ridiculous helmet back. I know I used to flippantly describe it as "security through absurdity", but today, I'm actually believing that that's a little bit true.
Now, I'm not the girliest girl you know. I usually wear pinstripe pants and a sweater (often a men's sweater) to work. Nearly all of my pants have pockets, because, although they are women's pants, they're styled a bit looser to allow me to put something in my pockets without stretching my pants so much that you can tell how many keys I have through the fabric.
WHY, then, WHY do so many of them have these ridiculous half-height pockets? The pants I am wearing today - their front pockets are, at the shallowest part, knuckle-height deep, and the back pockets don't quite button over my phone wedged in sideways.
So, there I am, rocketing over Cambridge streets and cursing the pavement in Harvard Square, when I hear a noise. I pull over and look - the plastic fork in the road that I thought I hadn't run over is in a different place, but another cyclist has already gone by. Is that what the noise was? I don't see anything else, and I'm late to work. I check - wallet - keys - work ID - all there, so on I go.
...until I get to work and reflexively poke my phone and it's not there BECAUSE OF THE GODDAMN DIRE POCKET SITUATION I FACE EVERY DAY.
Anyway.
At the advice of the nice lady at the cafe down the block where I park my bike, I called the phone number. Naturally, I didn't expect a good samaritan to have come by and picked up the phone to take care of it before it got run over by a car, so I was caught entirely off guard when a nice gentleman answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Uhhhhm.... hi, I uh... this.... um... who am I speaking with?"
"I actually just found this phone on the ground."
"OH GOD I was hoping you would say that. Are you in Harvard Square?"
"No, actually, I'm in Longwood, but I picked it up in Harvard..."
Turns out he thought it was a phone case. He was on his bike, so he stopped, put it in his bag, and got to work, only to discover that it was a whole phone. Then, I called. Poof! Although Longwood is not one of the natural habitats of the Molly, I was so flustered and amazed that he had picked it up and answered that I declared I would be DELIGHTED to trek down there and retrieve my phone from the front desk at his office.
All right. Thank you, Howell the benevolent cyclist. But the devastating thing is that this is the second major problem I've had on my bike in the last day, ever since I lost my valkyrie helmet. How did I lose my bike helmet? Isn't it always, you know, with the bike? Yes, yes, it is, but last week was a little odd. So last night when I went out, I put on an inferior-looking red skater helmet and then nearly got hit by a car. Very, very nearly. Now the phone.
Clearly I need: new pants, and my beautiful ridiculous helmet back. I know I used to flippantly describe it as "security through absurdity", but today, I'm actually believing that that's a little bit true.