In my last post, I mentioned an honest cab driver and one of my readers wanted to know more, so here goes. I got up around 4:30 a.m. Monday, June 18, England time to drive to London Heathrow Airport with enough time to begin my journey to Honolulu. Everything went very smoothly, except finding out that a dear friend’s son died in a car accident. I made my flight, got into Philadelphia fine, and made my connection to San Diego.
By the time I arrived in San Diego, about 10 p.m. June 18, I was running on very little sleep. I am not a good sleeper on airplanes, so besides a few cat naps, I basically was awake for 25 hours at this point and I still needed to get to my hotel. I found the shuttle and arrived at my hotel somewhere around midnight, San Diego time. I checked in, and asked about transportation in the early morning. The desk clerk said they would call a cab for me when I checked out.
Although exhausted, I had to get up again at some ungodly hour, like 3:30 a.m. Sleep eluded me as I worried about sleeping through the alarm and missing my flight. I got up, got dressed and went to the lobby to check out. The cab driver’s name was Mulissa. I don’t know what country he was from but he obviously wasn’t a native citizen of the United States. Mulissa got me to the airport, although he did ask me what terminal I needed. I had no idea! I hadn’t been to the San Diego Airport before the previous night and I was now going on 32 hours with no sleep.
At the terminal, I stumbled out of the cab, paid Mulissa, left a nice tip, and went to check my bags. On my way to the security checkpoint, I realized I didn’t have my cell phone. It was not in my pocket where I thought I put it. It was not by the check-in counter and it was not in my backpack. Screw it, I thought. I’ll deal with it later.
The Good Chaplain greeted me at the airport with my official le and a smile on his face. “Are you missing something?” he asked. In my fog of no sleep, 41 hours after this adventure began, I said, “Did the cab driver find my phone?” At least I was that coherent.
Apparently he found it in the backseat of his cab, right where it fell out of my pocket. He looked at my contacts and called Soccer Dude in Illinois with the news he found the phone and left his contact information. After a month of talking, texting and mailings back and forth, my cellphone finally came home to stay. And Mulissa got another big tip for his honesty and trouble to get it back to me.