Good Times, Bad Times

I boarded the train down to Circular Quay from Stanmore, the suburb I’m staying in.  Then I grabbed a ticket for the ferry over to Manley.  By the time I hit the north shore the clouds began to roll in covering up the blissful day.  This was an omen.

I nixed the tanning session in favour of grabbing a ride.  I rented a Trek 2300 for the remainder of the day.  At last, I had a road bike with gears!  I made my way through North Head Reserve before doubling back along the shoreline.  I was feeling sprite so I ventured off the path filled with vigour. 

Much like mainland, Manley is widespread with undulation, there were some steep climbs.  I didn’t care I was in my element, huffing and puffing as it may be.  I was in full flight for over an hour and upon my return to the rental shop even the rep was impressed with the amount of ground I covered. 

I had about 15min before the ferry arrived to send me back to Sydney.  I grabbed a protein shake and meandered down the wharf to recoup.

As I sat down and unlatched the day pack the most heinous of acts ensued.  I swung around my gear and felt the yank from the earphones vibrate my ear drums, before I could even flinch the iPhone plunged into the Tasman Sea.  The phone slot was slightly ajar….

…my first words – “You’ve got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME!” A few nearby patrons provided some empathy, but it didn’t help.

“FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCK!” 

There was a ferry worker nearby and I posed a question offering recommendations.“By a new phone” he retorted.  

Really?!!

“Any divers available?” I feverishly asked.

“No….If it’s any consolation, you’re not the first one“.  He calmly answered while taking a drag from his cigarette.

“That doesn’t really matter” I replied curtly. 

I hung my head amid shock and awe.  I couldn’t believe what just happened!  It was early evening; any attempts to contact a local dive shop would be in vain as everything was closed.  Besides, the device is toast…waterlogged, salt water to boot.  I felt sick.

Shock, disbelief, frustration and anger; in that order.  I wanted to cry.  I mumbled many, many, many, many expletives under my breath.  Woosh, $700 plus dollars flushed away.  Just then the skies opened up.  Pathetic fallacy.

I was vacant. I thought about Pete and Mardi and their ability to curb emotions when presented with an unforeseen turn of events.  It helped, but I was still in disarray.

I boarded the 30min ferry ride back to the city all along hanging my head in shame as my lifeline was drifting under the rip curl of the sea.  

I tried to console myself.  It could be worse, maybe my digital camera….lost my passport….wallet…heck it’s just a phone.  No internal reflection could help.  I was numb.

I began devising a plan. Thank goodness I have Mobile Me so contacts, photos, calendar and files are uploaded on line.  Music could be easily replaced from the laptop.  Functionality, love and money cannot be restored.

I had a very sombre return back to the suburbs, wet, angry, depressed and full of melancholy. 

The phone in my room came in handy.  I called Vodaphone to suspend my plan.  I was instructed that I could keep my same number once I pick up a new phone (tomorrow) with a blank sim.  No use calling Apple, they can’t do anything – nevertheless I’ll swing by the store in Sydney tomorrow. 

I placed a call with my travel insurance provider and filed a claim.  I am covered for $500 if approved.  BIG IF. I’ll need to get a report from the Harbour Commission or Police tomorrow.  

Only one thing left to do…Open my remaining bottle of wine from Torbreck, polish off the 1/3 of vodka and two Hoegaarden beers I have in stock.  Maybe, just maybe this will make the pain go away. 

Probably not.