Yesterday, I went to Magic Mountain with my equally thrill-seaking-roller-coaster-freak-of-a sister (I’m sure this distinguishing title will amuse her). The day started, well, off. It was just off. We woke up two hours later than we should have thanks to our non-stop banter the night before. After a rushed morning, an in-car breakfast and one awful detour, we made it to the theme park. FINALLY. It was 1 pm. No worries, we thought. We’ve been here before. We zeroed in on all the rides we cared for and enthusiastically got in line for the roller coasters.
This a good time to say that the theme park is really an analogy for life. You wait for hours for an adrenaline rush, finally get to your goal and it’s over in less than 1 minute. You then continue the rest of the day reliving the thrill of your experience.
Anyway, a few hours into our wait-and-scream journey, a new thrill awaited me. After a relatively short 30-minute wait, I got on to the Goliath. This is an old school roller coaster around 26 stories high. That’s over 300 feet. We got onto the ride and went up. The first drop was amazing. It continued onto the second loop. As we eyed our next drop, something flew out of my pocket which I didn’t even remember having.
I looked at the flying object before me. Several things happened at once.
I screamed, “my iPhone!” My mind kept saying, “catch it!”. But my hands weren’t moving fast enough.
The people in front of me looked behind, actually worried. I think they felt my pain.
My sister looked at me, terrified.
The iPhone flew away.
I don’t remember the rest of the ride.
I got out of it, numb. This can’t happen to me. This happens to other people. Not me.
My sister jerked me and we went to the ride conducters. We told them what happened and they asked us to go to lost and found.
We went. We filled out a form. We’d have to wait till the park closed. Till around 10PM. Basically for 5 hours.
Suddenly, no ride could match up to what happened. We walked to a cafe and spent the rest of the time drinking coffee (mostly to keep ourselves alert and occupied), conversing (more like consoling ourselves that all will work out either way), and window shopping the souvenir shops (mostly to distract ourselves).
We also turned on the Find My iPhone app. My phone was still alive and we could spot it between the Colossus and the Goliath. Yes, that app is a savior. I locked my phone and was ready to erase it if it looked stolen, though I pictured it more smashed than stolen.
9:45 came and we got anxious. We looked at the pin on the GPS, willing it to move. And move it did! Around 9:50, it suddenly moved to close to our location. As it moved, so did 2 people with trashcans in front of us. For a spilt second, we thought, for sure, that my phone is stuck in the trash, calling out for help. We followed the trash cans, wide-eyed and with our mouth agape. No, no no… This can’t be the end of this…
Then the pin stopped moving.
We ran into the office to see if it’s there. The lady asked about the device and I described it. “It has a pink and purple case,” I said. “Juicy Couture case.”
“No cased phone, I’m afraid,” she said dismissing me.
“But the app says it’s here. It’s a white iPhone 4s! Please look again”.
“Oh.” she said. She asked me a few questions about wallpaper etc.
I answered, praying.
She picked up a slim white device and gave it to me.
It was my iPhone.
One crack on the top.
One crack after a 300 feet fall.
God bless Juicy Couture and their quality covers.
I picked it up like I had the first time I got it.
It was the iPhone that lived.
It was my iPhone that lived…