On the average weekend, my biggest worries normally have to do with how to balance family time with chores.
This past Sunday, however, my day became infinitely more stressful when my husband lost his iPhone — and left me to find it.
Little did we know at the time that his phone was actually stolen and I would be the one confronting the thief.
The drama unfolded yesterday after my husband came home from the gym and couldn’t find his phone.
A thorough search revealed it wasn’t in the car, in his pockets, or at the gym’s lost and found.
I wasn’t 100 percent convinced it was missing, but for him, full panic had set in. To be helpful, I suggested he go online to locate the device using Apple’s built-in phone tracking feature called Find My iPhone. After pulling up the map, the beacon lit up, showing a small radius around the phone’s approximate location: The YMCA parking lot.
Ok, I conceded, the phone was missing.
We put the phone in “Lost Mode,” so if anyone found it, they would see a message alerting them to call me, and at this point, I volunteered to look for the phone on the way to the exercise room since the biggest crime at this point seemed to be losing it.
We had no idea if the service was very accurate, but from the map, it appeared like it was where he had parked just an hour earlier. The plan was for him to ping the device to make a noise so I could hear it when I got close. Since we were working off the assumption that he dropped it, our biggest concern was grabbing it before it ran out of batteries or got soaked by yesterday’s torrential downpour.
Looking high and low
But after I arrived, the situation snowballed into a much bigger adventure.
I found myself crawling on all fours, looking under parked cars. The inconvenience was magnified by the fact that my husband and I could not call each other since we have no home phone, and solely rely on our cellphones for communication. We slowly figured out he could FaceTime me from his computer, which I was happy to do so — now he had a complete picture of how ugly the hunt had become.
Pretty quickly, it was clear that the phone was not where it should be. Did it get run over by a car? Was it obscured by a tire? Hidden in a puddle?
Suddenly, the phone’s location got more accurate.
The diameter of the circle narrowed, and he was able to pinpoint with even more clarity where it was. It must have just picked up a WiFi signal was our only thought. My next move was to cuddle up to the Acura now occupying my husband’s previous parking spot, and only then could I faintly hear a noise coming from the car.
My first thought: A good Samaritan had grabbed the phone and threw it into their car to protect it from the rain. Now, I just had to wait for that person to return. For convenience sake, I re-parked my car with a direct view of the Acura and resumed FaceTiming with my 18-month old to pass time. Thirty minutes later, and the stakeout had gone nowhere. I was bored and we were having friends over for dinner in 30 minutes.
I again approached the car, and on closer inspection, I saw an old visitor’s badge stuck to the dashboard, presumably with the owner’s name and picture on it. Armed with more information, I entered the YMCA to see if they knew this man. Bingo! They confirmed he was in the building. A search revealed he was in the pool swimming laps, and was headed for the showers. The employee promised to introduce me when he was checking out.
Nearly a half-hour later, at the YMCA desk, I was introduced to the man, but he denied that he had my husband’s phone. I played dumb, asking if I could follow him out to ensure it wasn’t underneath the vehicle. I told him we were sure it was there, thanks to the ability to track the device with relative accuracy online. (I had heard the sound of the phone inside his car.)
A surprising turn of events
Was I nervous? Yes. Should I have called the police? Maybe. But the freshly showered man in the suit hardly seemed like a thief, if you were to picture one.
As we walked out, my husband started pinging the device, so in theory, when the man opened his door, it would be clear he had it, and would hand it over.
This is where things got really weird.
In the parking lot, the man quickly opened the door, hopped in and drove away. I didn’t have a chance to hear anything, and the friendly exchange I imagined, where he’d ask if I saw the device on the ground, or he would just hand me the device sheepishly, did not materialize.
He was gone. Now, the flashing icon my husband swore hadn’t moved an inch for the past couple hours was quickly on the move. The phone was absolutely in this guy’s car. He had our phone.
For closure more than anything, I walked back into the gym to tell the tale, which the employees, who knew what had been going on, found appalling, calling him “a really, really good guy.” Suddenly, my husband said, the car was returning to the gym, but this time the phone showing up in another parking lot. I ran outside once again. All I kept thinking: He was coming back to return the phone! He’s a good guy!
But the Acura was not in the lot. My faith suddenly vanished as I realized he’d returned to ditch the phone, and then sped away. He must have realized that his every move was being tracked.
Once again, on all fours, I continued the search, but this time, the pinging was loud and clear. Seconds later, a man helped me find the phone tucked safely away in the bushes.
Last night, I called police to report the crime, but was told I called too late to file a report over the phone. I have the man’s name, license plate number, and access to two witnesses, but we know even with all that information, sometimes the police department doesn’t prioritize petty crimes like this, according to a similar story in The Seattle Times.
What should I do? Forgive the man for the momentary lapse in judgement? Hope to never run into him on a treadmill or swimming laps? I’m considering all options, but truthfully I’m just happy to have stuck it out and gotten the phone back.
