(This little ditty was sparked taking inventory of my purse in "This Morning's Office"... ) In Massachusetts, I found the phone charger cord for the car as we left the rental house in Gloucester, so I tucked it in my suitcase to take to Iowa.  However, as I criss-crossed Iowa I rarely had cell coverage.  Not too shocking as no-service had become the norm this summer.  So my always-fully-charged phone rarely worked.  Perhaps T-Mobile is MA-based and can get power through buildings but not corn tassels.

While in Iowa, occasionally  I found 2-square feet to stand in to get 2 bars of coverage.  One of those times was on my sister's porch in the middle of Iowa at 8 a.m. when my phone rang.  "We are calling on behalf of Sprint to collect a bill you have not paid."  Never do I give a credit card number over the phone to someone who calls me.  "I don't have Sprint.  What service is it for?"  "I'm not sure, Ma'am, I just have the amount due that covers two billing cycles."

Crap.  It clicked: I do have Sprint.  At the beginning of summer, two billing cycles ago, I bought a "hot spot" so that wherever I go I can hook up to the internet with my lap top.  That is, wherever I can get cell coverage.  Which ended up not being at the house in Gloucester this summer.  So the magical hot spot went into a cardboard box, in the POD, in our driveway.

I have flashbacks of seeing "Sprint" in the subject of emails and not opening them because I don't have a Sprint phone.  I thought they were marketing emails... and I have fast delete fingers when it comes to those emails.  I had gone with paper-less billing for my Sprint hot spot.  Realizing that I actually did have a Sprint product and knowing I hadn't paid any bills, I grimaced and gave my credit card number and 3-digit secret code to this man.  Who called me.

Loading up the kids to go to Reiman Gardens in Ames, I felt a pit in the bottom of my stomache.  Even with the realization that I hadn't paid my Sprint bill, I shouldn't have given my card information to that guy.  The best solution for my panic was to contact a local Sprint office and confirm that the call was legit.  "Oh, Ma'am, that doesn't sound good.  What is your phone number?"  I don't have a phone with Sprint.  "Well, there is a number associated with the hot spot -- what's that number?"  That number is with the paperwork, in the hot spot box, in the POD, in the driveway, at our house, in Massachusetts.  "Well, there's no way I can look at your account without that number, Ma'am."  What about my name?  I know my name!!  "Unfortunately, we can't look up accounts by name.  You should probably call our 800 number for help."

I tossed paper and pencil to Will in the back seat and asked him to write numbers down as I repeated them from the Sprint lady.  She gave me two numbers to try.  I dialed the first one that Will had written down.  "Hello..."  Wow, that 'Hello' was way too sultry for Sprint customer service.  "We are so glad you called.  Are you looking for hot, steamy..."  Shock knocks the memory.  The Sprint lady gave me a sex line.  Or did Will write the  number down wrong?  I hit 'end call' and dared not call the second number.  I would go on faith that the collection agency that had called me was legit.

Later that afternoon, I heard the ping for an incoming text.  "Creamy chocolate or hot latina lovers r waiting 4 u.  $25 credit on your first call... or, do you want to SEXTEXT?"  No!  I really don't!!  And why are you sending this to me??  Ohhhh...  My cell number was captured after I called you.  By mistake.

That came in at 4:04 p.m.  "END" went out at 4:05 p.m.  My one and only sextext experience lasted less than a minute.

And to make sure there are no cliff-hangers: My hot spot is still in the cardboard box.  And the collection agency call was legit.

Need more endorphins freed up today?  Try this:  Finders Keepers