Front Seat Abyss

Recently, and for the brillionth time, I was driving down a busy street, minding my own business, checking my cell phone for messages while avoiding ramming into the car in front of me, when my cell phone slipped off my leg and down the side of the seat, in between the center console and hell.

It wasn't just that I no longer had access to my lifeline, but that even after I frantically pulled over to locate the world's most important cell phone, I couldn't get to it. I struggled greatly to reach the little sucker by sliding the seat to its forward-most and backward-most position, but no go. It would appear that my phone would spend the rest of its days alone in a dark nook manufactured by Ford.

My first thought was that I deserved it. Not only is it illegal to so much as glance at your cell phone while driving, but it's happened so many times before you'd think I'd tether my phone to my belt like a midwestern mother does her unruly kids. I mean c'mon, you know something is bound to happen so you might as well lock things up. Unable to imagine a cellphoneless world, my heart reached maximum beats per minute. I knew full well that if I abided the law, or wasn't a moron, I'd still have my phone. That if I could just not be a paranoid spaz for one darn minute my car wouldn't have eaten my phone. Alas, I am ruled by self doubt-fueled delusions of grandeur. I think bad things can't happen to me. So when they do, it's the worst.

Along came reason voiced by the unnerving sound of a two-mile long traffic jam my open car door had caused. (Nobody in this city has balls enough to go around.) I decided it was time to "let it go" using the only tools I have at my disposal: anxiety! With fresh pep I leapt into the drivers seat, slammed my car door shut and put the pedal to the metal of my non-sports car. I began to envision a trick where if I got going fast enough, I could depress the brake pedal swiftly which would result in my cell phone's reemergence into my life.

I cut down an alley and hit it. Fast. During my high speed chase against myself, I wondered how many texts I'd missed, how many calls went to voice mail, and who, if anyone, had tweeted me. Just as I reached the cross street I hit the brakes and BAAM! My phone flew under my feet!

Goes to show you that anxiety can lead to heroism. Who knew?