250 Words: Getting my mobile back

The first sign it had been found came on Sunday morning when my mother said someone had rung the night before and that “the number sounded like” mine.  Hope set in and not too long later the finder rang and asked how I wanted to organise things.  I asked where he lived (somewhere near the cinema), he suggested meeting at the newsagents nearby.

I got a lift into town and waited on a bench.  Felt a little like Lisa Liskli, actually, but waiting for a man to return property rather than for a date, as each time a new man came in sight, I wondered if they were the one.  He was a nice looking chap (hooded, bright yellow top and those horrible circular earrings that create a massive hole in your earlobes) who became our hero. 

Earlier, I’d been thinking about the question of a reward.  Chocolate or money were my two thoughts.  But overriding this was the belief that he could have just handed it in at the cinema and saved himself the bother.  So I more or less decided not to bother.  Kind of ended up almost feeling bad about this after asking if he had indeed found the device in das kino.  Turned out he hadn’t.  Rather, he’d trodden on the damned thing in Hart Street. 

Still, I don’t think he cared about it one way or another.  He certainly just seemed like a nice guy who wanted to get a phone back to its owner.