The Adventure of the Lost iPhone

I was on my early morning walk, a ritual when I travel to major cities by myself. It was a cold November morning in Philadelphia but my walk was pleasant because I was out before most commuters were in downtown. The previous night I was listening to the Christmas-themed Sherlock Holmes story, “The Blue Carbuncle” as I drifted to sleep. I did not get very far into the story before I drifted off to sleep, but little did I realize that my experiences a few hour later would approximate Sherlock’s adventure of a previous century. In the story, Holmes is presented with a man’s hat and a Christmas goose, using the existing evidence he tried find the owner of the items. While seemingly mundane, the story takes a dramatic turn when a precious jewel is found in the crop of the goose. My story does not have such a fantastic ending.  

About halfway through my walk, I crossed 13th Street at Arch. As I approached the other side of the street, I spied what appeared to be a smart phone laying in the ramp from the street to the sidewalk. Initially, I walked by. I continued almost to 12th Street, thinking about the phone, who lost it, and how they would find it. I stopped in my tracks when I realized that a person or cyclist would crush the phone if it was unobserved.  I turned around to look, there was no one between me and the phone. It was still very early. I took it upon myself to retrieve the phone.

Despite walking nearly a block in downtown Philadelphia, there was no one on my side of the street. Surely, I thought, someone would see the phone before I did. Alas, no one did. As I approached I considered my alternatives: look in the phone book for a spouse or parent, see if there were any identifying marks, check and see if there were an email address? I tried to channel Holmes and deduce how to find the owner. I picked up the phone. It was a nice iPhone with a black case. I noted the Verizon service and saw that they was an email feed from a gmail account on the homepage. Yet, the phone was locked with a passcode. Despite several attempted maneuvers, I determined that using the phone to find the owner would be impossible.

There were no business immediately around, and even if there were it was too early for any to be open. I put the phone in my jacket pocket and experienced a twinge of guilt. Did someone see me and think I was pilfering a smart phone?

Now that I had a lost smart phone in my jacket– what was I to do with it? There was a feature to bypass the code to make an emergency call, but this did not seem like a situation that warranted a 911 call. I decided to continue my walk and consider my options; perhaps there would be a police officer to whom I could give the phone. A few blocks down I met a traffic officer and tried to pass the burden of the cellphone to him. He said he was not a police officer and could not accept the phone. He suggested that I continue my walk and if I came across a police office and give it to him (or her). Not finding a police officer until I reached my hotel near the corner of Market and Juniper Streets, standing outside a Dunkin Donuts was a police officer. He stood, staring at me dispassionately, as I explained by dilemma. He barely made a sound as I relayed my story. When I turned on the phone to demonstrate the phone was locked, a message popped up: “This phone is lost. Please call xxx-xxx-xxxx.” I looked up, the police officer continued to stare at me, even as he casually glanced down at the phone. I looked at the phone, then at him, and said: “Never mind.”

I returned to my hotel room to retrieve my own cellphone. I called the number, a man with a slight accent answered. I said that I had found his cellphone. After some preliminaries, including that I did not live in Philadelphia and the iPhone was his wife’s, we made arrangements to relieve me of the lost phone. He asked my name and the nearest coffee shop, which was the Dunkin Donuts where I encountered the disinterested police officer. He said is wife Anna would meet me there. I asked how soon and he replied, “Shortly.” I told him I would wait outside. After I hung up the phone I debated calling him back and say, “I am wearing a green jacket…or a hat.” I did not.

I waited outside the iconic donut franchise on Juniper Street for about ten minutes, watching people pass by. The policeman who I had spoken to earlier had moved on. As I watched people I tried to discern who might be Anna. I noticed a young woman in a green sweater walked by and made eye contact. She walked into the shop and I can continued to scan the people walking by. After a few minutes, the woman in the green sweater reemerged and asked, “Are you...?”

“Anna?” I replied. She affirmed my question with a nod.

I pulled the iPhone from my jacket pocket and Anna seemed relieved to finally see the phone. Her accent and appearance provided an indication that she was an immigrant from Eastern Europe; however, her accent was slight and were it not from speaking to her husband I might not have detected it. She explained that that she had fallen that morning and her phone had dropped, undetected, out of her pocket. She said with earnestness, “I would like to give you fifty dollars…” I cut her off and replied, “Absolutely not…it was my pleasure.” With little left to be said, we exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways.

Philadelphia, which in Greek means brotherly love, does not always live up to its moniker. I am sure Holmes would have some profound statement at this point. I do not, except: It is these little vignettes that allow us to connect to people, and give us travel stories to remember.