I should probably learn my boyfriend's phone number

Last night, I was supposed to meet my boyfriend after work because we had a couple of appointments with brokers to look at apartments. We hadn't planned an exact meeting point because I was supposed to call when I got off work to say that I was on my way. Simple enough, except that when I got off work my phone wouldn't turn on. Or rather it would turn on, taunt me by letting me scroll to his name, and then shut off when I tried to look at his number or follow through with a call. Very frustrating. Especially considering I plugged it in the night before.

There are several pay phones of varying working order and questionable cleanliness in the subway, but it was at this point that I realized I couldn't even name the area code of his phone number. I consider this a problem with our modern dependence on cell phones, because it takes so long (or at least some effort) to memorize a number when you don't have the repetitive memory formed by punching the numbers quite a few times. I can still remember the phone numbers for my friends in middle school, but not the number of someone I call on a regular basis. Sadly calling the girl I used to make up Britney Spears videos on a trampoline with when I was 12 didn't seem to help my present situation. Finally, I realized I did have his number in my email, but at this point I was already on the train, and going back to work to check it would only make me later.

The plan I devised on the train was to sprint to his apartment and hopefully catch him before he left or gave up on me entirely for not returning his no doubt many confused calls. I made the 10-minute walk to his apartment in about 5 minutes (p90x has improved my fitness level, but still running in a dress, boots, and a heavy coat is something even Tony Horton might find difficult).
Astoria is lovely, but lengthy to traverse. I'm really just adding this picture to break up an otherwise boringly large block of text.

I knocked and he wasn't there. I let myself into his apartment and, not surprisingly, he still wasn't there. He'd downloaded skype on his computer, so I thought I could use that to call him, but alas, I couldn't find it (and he later told me he'd deleted it the day before). I looked up in my email to find his number and pulled a random receipt off his desk to write it down. Coincidentally, this random piece of paper turned out to be his phone bill and contained the very digits I needed.

Grabbing that, I took off again, heading in the direction of the general area he'd told me the real estate office was. I was beginning to feel a little like Franka Potente in Run, Lola, Run, you know, except for all the blood money and armed robbery. I found a real estate office and went in and started babbling incoherently while gesturing at my phone. I mentioned my boyfriend's name and one of the real estate agents seemed to have heard of him. That was my ticket in! Another one of the brokers offered me the use of a phone so I could contact him. Unfortunately, when I was able to get a hold of him, he told me I was still in the wrong place. Apparently, the reason they'd heard of him was because we had an appointment with them on Friday. I thanked them for the use of their phone and slowly backed out, saying I would meet him on the corner. I'm not sure I fully explained that I wouldn't be coming back.

Luckily, I was only a few blocks from where I was supposed to meet him, although another 20 minute walk to where the next appointment was. Good thing I'd done my p90x legs and back that morning! Otherwise, I might not have even been sore.

Another unfortunate result of my phone black out was that I didn't get to call and wish my father a happy birthday. So happy (belated) birthday, Dad! Hopefully, the card I sent proves I didn't forget.