One day at work a colleague of mine lost a 'prized possession'. It seemed that it had been left unattended at her desk when somebody had quietly picked it up and casually walked away. On hearing the sad news, well-wishers from all over the floor started pouring in to offer their condolences, many with sympathy; some others with empathy, having earlier undergone a similar experience themselves under different circumstances.
The 'prized possession' turned out to be a smartphone she had bought 2 weeks ago - having gone through weeks of deliberation before placing her order, and having welcomed it with much fanfare on delivery. But right now she was clearly distraught and heartbroken and in front of those who came to share the grief, she did not try to conceal her feelings. Some of us decided to help on with the investigation and rallied a search party to scan the office floor while some others lost themselves in discussion of hypothetical scenarios of larceny trying to profile the suspect who had mysteriously eluded one and all.
No sooner the investigation had started than my mind got crowded with mixed feelings. On one hand was the thrill of being an investigator, while on the other was a feeling of despondency for being considered a suspect. I remembered Voltaire's quote that read: “Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do”. And here was I, feeling a tad remorse for something which I didn’t do and, to add, could never get myself to do. If looked through an investigator’s eye we were all seated on the same floor, spread over an area around, but near, the scene of crime. Thus technically, everyone on the floor was a suspect. For reasons I could not comprehend yet, this technical thought comforted me more than the mixed feelings I described earlier. Apprehension prevailed on the floor though and everyone continued to look at everyone as if everyone felt everyone was a suspect!
Seconds became minutes, and the minutes in due time clocked an hour but the crusade was on. Since it had been a smartphone that went missing, some 'smart' colleagues who owned such phones themselves suggested use of ‘apps’ - application software installed on smartphone and other electronic devices and referred to as such henceforth - to detect and track any signals the 'lost soul' may have been emanating. But this effort was soon abandoned after it was discovered, albeit by another 'smart' colleague, that most security enabling apps have to be installed on the phone in the first place.
The flow of intelligent ideas soon started running dry and finally we were all at our wits end. The forlorn search party too was called off. With varied images of the victorious lifter in our minds, we finally decided to head back to our desks to complete our work and finish off what otherwise had been an uneventful day.
Moral of the story - Being smart may not necessarily mean you endorse a smartphone or you know the various trendy apps that go with it. Being smart is being utmost careful around yourself. Else you stand the chance of losing a small fortune. Luxury, for certain in the smartphone world, does not come cheap.
On another note, if you are born into riches or, as in this case, you think you are 'smart' enough and cannot survive another day without a smartphone only because you have got so used to it, you must bury your grief and move on (to the next one as in this case).
That’s precisely what my informed colleague did. Burying the distressing thoughts of her ephemeral association with the 'priced possession', she logged on to eBay and ordered another smartphone for herself the very next day!
