Material Love

Have you ever lost something? Did it worry you so much that you felt physically ill for a week?

I always thought I held no store with material possessions. I got myself to believe that I valued emotional concepts such as love and friendship more than physical objects. But then I lost my mobile phone.

Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a little there. Maybe I would be a little more worried if I misplaced a friend than my phone - but I was surprised at just how wound up I got over the loss of some intricately placed plastic components. It was a similar feeling to the one I had going into my A-level exam hall knowing I had done no revision when I was 18. A feeling in my stomach that means only one thing - inevitable doom.

The phone itself was only a couple of weeks old. A Samsung 900 soul - apparently James Brown has one. I was due an upgrade and, not being much of a shopper, chose the first one the shop assistant recommended (I know, I know! - but she seemed honest... really she did) She said it was just in and it was the best free upgrade I could get. If a cell phone actually calls people and lets me receive texts it's about all I need - all the other stuff is a rarely used bonus. Actually I was well chuffed with my shiny little Samsung - and my pupils told me I made the right choice, so it's all good.

All good until last Monday when it disappeared. I remember covering a class where one particular fifteen year old started asking if he could look at my phone and read my messages. It seemed like an odd thing to ask - surely he knew I would say no - of course he would. It was only after lunch when I went to use my phone that I realised it had gone. It was only an hour after that I remembered the conversation and realised the horrible significance. 'He asked to see my phone because he knew that I wouldn't be able to show it. He knew I wouldn't be able to show it because he knew I didn't have it. He knew I didn't have it because he had it. HE HAD STOLEN MY PHONE. Or at least hidden it somewhere.'

For a week I turned my classroom, my home, my car, my everything upside down in search of the phone. I retraced my steps dialling my number with a borrowed phone hoping to hear the Hallelujah Chorus sung with 'Alan Shearer' replacing the 'Hallelujah' (classy ringtone.) I asked everyone I could think to ask, even the boy I thought might have stolen it - I was REALLY subtle so as not to arouse suspicion. I wanted to fill him with guilt while still allowing him to slip the phone back later in the belief I didn't suspect a thing.

All the time I had the continual unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. I pictured the bill outlining hours of calls to Sydney - the city, not the person.

It annoys me that I placed so much value on the phone. I hate the fact that my fear of having to pay out money led to mistrust and deception. It disappoints me that my values aren't as stone wall as I led everyone (including myself) to believe, that there is the metallic taste of hypocrisy in the air.

But possibly the most disappointing thing was that when a classroom assistant brought the phone she'd found below a chair in the staffroom to me today there was only 2 missed calls (other than the 12 from me) and 3 messages. Five! IN A WEEK! Less than one a day! I guess no one likes a hypocrite.