About 18 months ago, I sat on a bench in Brisbane and my iPhone 7 fell out of my pocket.
Two nights ago the Queensland police e-mailed me and said they found it.
We had traced the phone using findmyphone, but it was an apartment complex about 2 km away and couldn’t get a specific signal.
I had filed a police report with the serial number, but insurance wouldn’t cover it, so I figured it was just another technology tragedy (also why I use a computer from 2012 because I’ll just drop it, why I used an iPhone 5 for years, because I’d just drop it, why I have to concentrate when I walk, because I’ll just fall over).
And then, after 18 months, the phone shows up at the West End police station.
They wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me how they came into possession of it, my beautiful wife drove me to the police station, and daughter Sorenne now has a nice upgrade to her iPhone 5.
And since this is personally weird post, here’s a picture of when I was about 3 on Grandpa Homer’s tractor (the asparagus baron) that my mother sent along. She’s 77 and flying to Australia to be with me for a week.