Does life go on when phoning it in is no longer an option?

Due to a series of unfortunate events, I was left phoneless for a span of 48 hours last week. It doesn’t sound like much, but have you ever tried it?

It also coincided with me being locked out of my Facebook account, leaving me almost completely uncontactable, apart from email.

If free-to-air TV was still a thing the last time you were without a phone for longer than an hour or so, let me guide you through the experience in today’s world.

Thursday, 2 pm – 3 pm

My phone dies. This is not unusual. I plug it in to charge and go about my day.

Half an hour later, it’s not charged. Annoyed, I plug it into a different charger.

This one isn’t working either. I begin to realise it may not be about the charger.

I email my boss, my mum, and the one friend who’s email address I have and alert them all of my difficulty.

I ask them to please let my husband know, as he will doubtless be mystified and distraught by my lack of response to the unrelenting stream of cute animal reels he will (I am certain) have sent.

No-one responds.

Luckily the calamity struck near the end of the workday and I can finish up.

I make myself a cup of tea and just … sit there. Quite nice, actually.

Thursday, 3 pm – 10 pm

Dilemma.

Google tells me there’s a highly rated phone repair shop about a 20-minute drive away.

I’m on a quest to reduce waste, so surely getting my phone fixed is better than just chucking it and buying a new one? Also, I’d quite like to reclaim my photos and grocery list.

However, I’ve still not heard back from anyone. I fear if I leave and DH comes home to an empty house after hours of radio silence he will panic.

(In hindsight I could have left a note but the last time I left someone a note explaining my whereabouts I was still in school uniform, so this idea does not cross my panicked mind.)

I resolve to sit and wait patiently for DH’s return, and hope it coincides with the opening hours of the phone repair shop. Chaos.

This is very boring, so I clean the house. Worse when you can’t listen to a podcast while you do it.

DH arrives home and I’m more excited to see him than the dogs are. He is very confused and has not, in fact, noticed anything amiss.

I dash to the phone repair shop where a nice man assures me it is fixable but may not be ready until Monday.

He asks for my number to call when the phone is ready.

I look blank.

My husband’s number perhaps?

“It’s in the phone,” I tell him dumbly.

In the end I give him the only mobile number I know off by heart – Mum’s.

I return home feeling successful and virtuous.

DH acts as my secretary and I dictate messages for him to send friends and family members. He makes and cancels plans dexterously. I could get used to this.

DH then settles in to scroll through reels on his phone before bed. I turn to a book (but am secretly both jealous and annoyed any time I hear a video that sounds particularly funny).

Friday

I had three phone interviews scheduled for today. I email them all to apologise and reschedule.

I feel as though I’ve lost a limb, but I also feel weirdly relaxed.

I do research for future stories and write up announcements from emergency services.

I’d planned to meet a friend at the gym that afternoon; when I turn up, she’s not there. Is she sick? Did her dog run away again? Does she have a flat tyre? Does she secretly hate me? It’s a mystery I cannot solve.

Today feels a bit like a holiday – like when you’re at school but it’s almost Christmas and the teachers are phoning it in.

My house is very clean and I’ve finished a book for the first time in ages. I could get used to this.

Saturday

DH plans our weekend commitments; he also discovers my missing friend from yesterday got stuck at work.

We go to the gym, and Mum calls DH to let him know the phone repair man called her and I can pick it up on the way home.

Delighted, I go to do so. The shop has a “Back in 10 minutes” sign. I go for a walk for 10 minutes. The sign is still up.

What do I do? Is the store actually closed for the day? How could I find that out? How long do I need to wait before it’s OK to give up and go home?

If I wait for an hour, say, will DH think I’ve been kidnapped by human traffickers, or (more likely) crashed my car?

I go to Coles for a quick anxiety-reducing chocolate bar. By the time I get back the shop has reopened. My phone is returned to me, and all is well with the world.

DH has been playing video games and not noticed my prolonged absence.

Things I have learnt:

No-one cares as much about what I’m doing as I think they do.

Podcasts are a gift from the gods.

A clean house is attainable, at the cost of Instagram.