How it happened: Walking back and forth on top of demolished house rubble to take photos, I slipped my phone in the inside breast pocket of my jacket...or at least I thought I did.
The phone actually missed my pocket, and just slipped right out the bottom of my jacket and into a pile of debris.
Apparently my phone is a ninja phone, because it made absolutely no sound while falling into the pile. I had no idea I had done this until I reached for it again to take another photo. That's when I had that sinking feeling of "Oh no...no....no....no, where's my phone. I JUST USED IT!"
As, I heard the excavator's engine rev up, that first sinking feeling was quickly followed by another "Oh no....no...no....my phone is being CRUSHED TO DEATH! STOP!" St. Anthony then became my best friend for the 1,236th time in my life.
Over the course of the next 10 minutes, the contractor, the demo guy, me and my Aunt Bea desperately searched through the rubble looking for it. I was already preparing myself emotionally to find it crushed...or to never find it. It was a real 'needle in a haystack' endeavor. Here's the pile we were looking through:
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| The red arrow marks the location where we found my phone...about 3 "layers" of rubble down. |
Everyone was calling my phone, hoping to hear it below the surface of some pile, but my phone was down to 3% battery...and when you call it 50 times, it goes to 0% really quick. Not to mention I had it on silent.
Just before we gave up, the demo guy thought to move his tractor over a little, which let us lift up some more broken boards to look under.
Like a marble falling down through the cracks of a marble run, my iPhone had slithered through multiple cracks in the rubble to be a few layers down - face down in a pile of broken glass and wood but undamaged and out of battery. How it got that deep, I have no idea.
I now keep my phone in a different pocket.
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