We found a cell phone on the trail yesterday morning. It was just sitting there: a Razr in a lovely black leather case, with a gabillion names in the contact list. It was obviously a serious communication tool.
And it was all in French.
Fortunately, there was a listing for maison which, even I remember, means house. So I called, we played phone tag [yes, he had a French accent, which was nice confirmation that it really was his phone and all my high school and university book learnin’ didn’t go to waste] and eventually met up to reunite the two.
Then, cell phone dude gives me twenty bucks. I never even suggested that I would hold the phone hostage and I tried to decline, rather vehemently, but not enough as I ended up walking away with the cash. Now, as Mr.Q noted, it’s a steal compared to this guy’s cost to replace the phone, but still. That wasn’t the point.
I stuffed the money in the outside of the diaper bag – I couldn’t even bring myself to put it in my wallet – and left it there while we did a little running around. When we hit the bank, the money got deposited into the Magpie’s account.
That just really seemed like the best place for it.