On Friday afternoon I got off work a couple of hours early in order to get home and finish packing for my Durban long-weekend (and to catch the Royal kiss but that’s beside the point). Having managed to get myself organised without a major panic, finish packing and do everything that needed to be done in time to leave home by 3, to check-in at the airport by 3.45, I was surprised how smoothly everything seemed to be going.

Naturally, this was all too good to be true. My dad kindly drove me to the airport and on the way we got involved in a chat regarding all sorts of new technology. He’s recently started reading TechCentral and now fancies himself quite “clued” for an old guy. This means that at every possible opportunity, he throws in a comment, a knowledgable and relevant one at that, about anything technological that he has recently learnt about.

So, interesting convo in progress, I put my beloved phone under my leg on the seat (partly in order to avoid encouraging a smash and grab situation by leaving it on my lap, and partly to stop from being distracted by the wonders of Twitter via Echofon).

Getting out of the car at the airport, I grabbed my handbag, and went to the boot to get my suitcase and hand luggage bag, kissed me dad goodbye and missioned off into the airport.
At the check-in counter, I went digging in my handbag, in which my phone is ever-elusive, as is I’m sure the case for lots of gals. Not locating the phone in the first round of scrabbling, my heart dropped ever so slightly. Thinking I must have missed it I continued the scrabble post-check-in with bag on floor in middle of airport, chucking out wallet, charger cable, camera, and any number of other random crap that lives in the deep dark depths of said bag.

No phone. No beloved iPhone that keeps me in touch with Twitter and Facebook and Instagram and on Whatsapp, and in touch with friends whose numbers I do not remember off-hand. No way to get hold of brother who I am going to see in Durbs. No phone with the sms of the address of the complex I need to tell the taxi to take me to when I arrive.

So I bolted downstairs to the payphones – yes, they still make those – threw in one of the two R5 coins scrounged from the bottom of bottomless-pit-handbag, only to have it fly straight through and drop out the bottom. At this point I was already trying to dial. Put the coin in again. Still no go. Apparently the pay phone does not accept “new” R5 coins. Or this one didn’t anyway. Went to try the phone on the other side – card phone. Panic – need to get hold of dad before he gets too far to bring it back to me. How will I get hold of anyone all weekend? How will I survive?

Run to the hotdog stall to try and get change for the only R20 note in my purse. He gives me new R5 coins. Give it back and ask him for R2 coins. Run back to the phone. Get the coins in, manage to dial half the number before it spits them back out at me. Try again, dial a different number – still no go. It’s now 4.05pm. My boarding gate closes at 4.15pm and I figure even if I get hold of dad he won’t have time to get back to me before I fly so I give up. Go back upstairs. Hold frustration at bay. Go through the security check. Try one last pay phone to try and find out address of accommodation for the weekend. Which was in an sms on my phone. Manage to get the coins to go through. Manage to dial the number. No ringing tone coming through. And yet the payphone is taking my money. Hang up and try one more time. Same story.(No wonder people have cell phones.)

4.15pm. I’m going to be late to board. Mission back to gate D1. Look at my ticket and realise I’m meant to be at gate D8. Mission back across to the other end of the domestic boarding gates. Just past the bank of payphones I was just standing at. Stand in the queue. Listen to the announcements.

4.30pm. This an announcement for the Kulula/BA flight blablabla – we have been delayed due to a late inbound wakawaka… New departure time is now 5.30pm.

As much as this annoys me, it means I still have time to try and figure out where I’m going at the other end, and try and let my brother know that I’m going to be late and won’t be able to get hold of him.

Sit myself down on the airport floor. Take out my netbook (thank goodness I threw it into my hand luggage at the last minute). Wifi hotspot – score! Purchase airtime – no score. Grab my 3G and plug in. Thank goodness for my 3G. (Which I won in a competition with Gadget at the beginning of the year). Tweet desperate “delayed and have no phone” tweet. More than one friendly response of – who do you need us to get hold of – thanks millions to Frankie and Tam.

Tam phoned my mum. Mum gave her the address of the flat where I was to be staying. Tam tweeted me the address. Tam told mum about delayed flight. Mum phoned brother and explained situation. Brother said he’d wait outside flat and lookout for me at about the time I should hopefully be getting there.

Thank heavens for technology. Maybe a little sad to know how much I depend on it but in these sorts of situations it really does make life so much easier. A quick phone call would have saved me so much admin. But netbooks and 3G rocked my world this weekend.

Moral of the story – all the technology in the world can’t help you if you leave it on the front seat of your dad’s car.

xx