Boob Sweat and a Bowl of Rice

The other day, Beaver and I met for our morning work out. We usually switch between neighborhoods, hers’ being the groomed and mine being the rustic. Either way, according to her pedometer it’s a four- mile stretch. And at this time of year when the mercury climbs to 90° by eight am, it’s a sweaty adventure.

Anyway, last Friday when we closed the front door behind us, I noticed the Beaver had stored her cell phone in her sports bra and thought it a convenient pocket. I don’t usually carry my phone at this time of day, and because my iPod has a snappy little clip, I never even considered that my running shorts and shirts are pocket free. Nevertheless, when we again met on Monday, I was expecting two important phone calls: one from my husband on the road and the other from one of my oldest and dearest friends, whose daughter had just been hit by a car while on her bike.* (The driver was talking on her cell phone.) Because I didn't want to miss these calls, I used Beaver’s method and tucked my phone in my sports bra.

Big Mistake. After the workout when I pulled my phone from my sweaty bra pocket, the screen was black.

 

You’d think I’d know by now how sensitive electronics are to moisture. This past summer I witnessed both my sister’s and my daughter’s phones plunge from their pockets into the lake and immediately go dead. “Put it in the oven,” was one piece of advice. “Use the compressor to dry it out,” was another. After twenty-four hours of drying out, the good news is that both of their phones came back to life.

Upon learning of the murder by boob sweat attempt on the life of my phone, both Beaver and our friend, Julie, a cyclist, suggested the best ICU was to lay it in a bowl of rice. Since I’ve seen many a saltshaker in tropical climates filled with grains of rice mixed with the salt (in order to prevent coagulation), this suggestion made sense to me. So, I gave it a shot.

This morning, when I removed the phone from the rice and put it back together, it appeared to be back in working condition. The screen came up and the contacts were not lost. Then I plugged it into the charger, grabbed my iPod and went for another run.

When I came back, sure to wipe away the sweat pouring off my body before touching the phone, I found the screen had once again gone black. I can make and receive calls, but it appears the boob sweat has caused some serious brain damage. 

Damn! Why did I store that phone in my bra? I wondered, how could it not be a problem for the Beaver but be a BIG one for me? Perhaps it’s because of our difference in size. 

Perhaps.

"The moral of the story," said the Beaver to her big-breasted friend, "is that when it comes to anything to do with bras, never take advice from an A-cup.”

* My friend’s nine-year-old daughter is still in the hospital with two fractured ribs, a lacerated liver, scratches to the face and one pupil remains larger than the other, causing some blurred vision. Five days after the accident her prognosis is good, and she will most likely be released by tomorrow. Unfortunately, it’ll be quite a while before she—and especially her mother—recover from the trauma.

Bottom line: DON’T RUN, WALK, or especially DRIVE and use your cell phone.

The Alltel & Idiot Cocktail

We must be spending too much time on the road. In four days we’ve experienced three close calls, none of them our “fault.” The first two happened in the exact same spot on Tanque Verde Road, and at the exact same time of day. (We had back-to-back noon soccer games in Phoenix on both Saturday and Sunday.)

Heading out of town (going west) there’s a spot where drivers from Wrightstown Road merge from the left into three lanes of Tanque Verde Road. The proper way to merge is to stay in the far left lane prior to moving over to the middle or right lane. Right? Well, Idiot #1 never bothered to look if a car—OUR car—was in the middle lane, and as soon as his front tires hit TVR, he decided the middle place was the place he wanted to be. I sucked breath while Mike slammed breaks and Accident #1 didn’t happen. Idiot #2 did the same thing on Sunday morning, but it wasn’t as dramatic a merge move as Idiot #1, which means less swerving and a shorter horn blast coming from our car. Given the previous day’s experience, this time we were more prepared. Even though we avoided Accident #2, we were incredulous about the recurring events.

Hmmmmmmm . . . perhaps there’s a need for a YIELD sign on Wrightstown Road for drivers merging onto Tanque Verde Road? How about a bright YELLOW banner reading: STAY IN THE LEFT LANE IDIOT!

We were in the car for only a few miles today and had another close call. The kids were ready this morning in time to take the bus, but our teenager snubbed the idea. “I HATE the bus,” she announced. Whatever. She liked it last week. And trust me, she’ll like it again this week because unless we’re running late in the morning, there’s really no excuse to pass up a free ride to school. Nevertheless, it’s not a long trip to the schools and because raising our kids is our main job while we’re in Tucson, we’re happy to spend this time with them.

We dropped off Kid #1 at the junior high and made our way with Kid #2 to the elementary school. These are not usually high-density roads but during the before-the-bell hours, minivans and SUVs abound. We recognize many drivers and often wave to one another by holding up cups of coffee and offering “have-a-nice-day” smiles.

We didn’t know the SUV driver at the corner of Ft. Lowell and Melpomene with whom we nearly had a close encounter.

The accident would have been our responsibility if it had happened, but it wouldn’t have been our fault. Why? Grateful thanks to quick reflexes that it didn’t, and grateful thanks for the reminder that so many drivers are IDIOTS and to always remember the “Defensive Driver” chapter in our Driver’s Ed courses. So, I’ll call the driver of the big honkin SUV Idiot #3. If our vehicles had kissed, front end to front end, we would have told about how she seduced us into making that left turn in front of her.

Idiot #3 had her right turn signal flashing and was driving slowly enough to appear as though she actually meant to make a right turn onto the street where we sat at the STOP sign. Obviously because she didn’t turn, she either mistakenly flipped on the signal or more likely, she FORGOT to turn it off because she was ON THE PHONE!

Recently there was a study conducted at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City comparing drunk drivers to those who drive while using their cellular phones. The conclusion states: "... the impairments associated with using a cell phone while driving can be as profound as those associated with driving while drunk."

I'm guilty of driving under the influence of cell phone but I'm not one of those babes who has a phone glued to her ear every driving minute. We see some drivers on our morning commute who, without fail, have one hand on the steering wheel and one hand to an ear. Needless to say, they're NOT waving to us. They're not looking at us. They're not even considering us! I wonder, are they conducting business? Gossiping with their friends? Going over last minute history notes before their kids' first hour exams?

What I know for sure is they're causing a lot of accidents and near accidents. And if this accident had happened, I'm sure we'd be paying for a lot more than Idiot #3's phone bill. My husband, our driver, won’t soon take a turn signal for granted again. 

By the way, Idiot #3 definitely saw us, and boy did she give us a look! When I was done sucking in my breath and wiping spilled coffee off my jeans, I looked to the right to see the taillights ambling to the west, and noticed she had immediately turned off her signal. I imagine her thought was: “Whoops.” And I imagine her Alltel conversation was: “Some Idiot in a Mercedes nearly slammed into me.” (That, by the way, would make us Idiot #4.)

Tomorrow, the kids are definitely taking the bus.