Call me ... maybe

In deciding the topic of my senior column, I have come to the painful conclusion that the number of cell phones I have lost is probably the most accurate representation of my past four years at this school. The exact number is eight (with two close calls). To those that don’t know me, that might sound like an exaggeration. Unfortunately, it’s not. To those who do know me, you probably thought it was more. 

Looking back on my past phones, the ways in which they were lost and (sometimes) returned to me are reflective of the stages in my life during which they happened. I won’t walk you through all of them, but like most mistakes, there are lessons to be learned from each of my phone-transgressions. Given that this is my last opportunity to share any wisdom I’ve gained at Duke, I think phone-loss is perfect, as I am an expert on the subject. 

The first phone casualty I experienced happened on the first floor of Aycock, when my pink BlackBerry came within fatal proximity of some unfortunately-placed Aristocrat. My friends and I were young and impressionable and still sneaking vodka into our dorm rooms, and I was shocked. Like many things in college, this phone damage was a first for me, and I had no idea how to handle it. The solution came when one of us suggested going to Cosmic Cantina to get some dried rice, which we had been told would cure it. Unfortunately, the rice didn’t help. Instead, my friends and I had more than a few good laughs trekking to Ninth St. and abandoning our plans for the night in an attempt to fix my phone. 

Sophomore year, my phone fell victim to the North Carolina State Fair. My friends and I still didn’t know that there was vibrant life beyond Duke’s campus, and the fair seemed like an exotic thing to do. That phone was never recovered, and the process of getting another one was much less enjoyable than the first time. Though I had insurance, losing this phone meant that contacts were lost, my editor was upset at my slow response time and reporting needed to happen on the phones in the office. As a sophomore, Duke had seemed to lose its newness and the challenges of the ever-referenced “work hard, play hard” environment became impossible to ignore. Relationships with friends had become more complicated because our relationships with ourselves had become less concrete. For me it meant countless hours balancing The Chronicle and my personal life, which at times were very difficult to separate.

Fast forward to junior year, when I lost my phone outside a house party near campus. As a somewhat more responsible student, I set it down to help a friend get into a cab, and it had been lost in the shuffle. I had maxed out my phone insurance policy (that’s possible), but I had a nicely timed upgrade that solidified my transition to the iPhone. A few weeks later, however, my editor received a voice mail on The Chronicle’s machine from a nice lady saying she had found it and wanted to return it. Touched by the gesture, I visited her and ended up meeting a wonderful person. Junior year had a habit of surprising me that way; I had chosen not to go abroad and subsequently fell in love with life-long friends, came to know different grades better and finally explored the city I had been living in for more than two years. 

Inevitably, senior year has come and gone. After a “phamily” dinner with my littles (I’m the old one now), we were leaving Sushi Love and it was raining; my phone fell out of my bag while I was putting away my umbrella and I didn’t notice its absence until I got home. At that point, I had a back-up flip-phone I could use, and it was funny to realize which phone numbers I had memorized (I’m pretty guilty of being contacts-dependent) or already had stored. Despite my phone hazards, the people I knew and loved most always seemed to be able to find a way to communicate with me. 

Today, I’m glad to say I’ve rejoined the world of smart phones and have most of my contacts restored. Losing one phone (let alone eight) is not an experience I would wish on any person, but I’m sure most people can relate to some extent. Reflecting on each lost device, though, has opened my eyes to what can be taken away from it all. 

As a senior preparing to enter the real world, it is inevitable that time will eventually distance me from some of the people that pop up on my phone screen countless times a day. I will no longer be calling strangers for bylines (true story: I once talked to President Barack Obama on the phone from my co-worker’s dorm room) or class projects. With any luck, though, the magic that is modern technology will be able to give me little glimpses of the life I’m leaving when I get nostalgic and feel like checking up on old friends. My best advice is this: Keep your batteries charged, and don’t take any time for granted with the people who are by your side to help when you lose your phone.  

Samantha Brooks is a Trinity senior. She is a senior editor of The Chronicle and former multimedia editor and local and national editor. She encourages people to make at least as many mistakes as she has while they’re here, but to try not to lose as many phones.