A few years ago, I decided to venture forth into the Arctic Tundraesque winter weather in Provo, Utah to hit up a hot tub. Being the desperately hopeful young that I was, I took my phone along with me, just in case a girl called while I was out soaking my loins. (And trust me, the odds were far greater that I would get a call from a supermodel than meet an attractive model in the sausage-fest that is every Provo hot tub.)

As I plunged myself into the warm mystery fluids, I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yes, my phone was still in my pocket… and it was no longer a phone.

For this very reason, I had the utmost pity for the girl at the pool this week.

Some of my good friends recently got married. They are currently living in less-than-ideal conditions in an extended stay motel. (They will not appreciate my repeating that information in a public forum, but so be it.) They come over to my pad from time to time to indulge in the awesome amenities.

On this specific occasion, I was running lase, so the happy couple just snatched up the key to the pool and awaited my arrival in the steaming waters of life.  They were joined by a pair of hormonally overactive teenage couples.

When I showed up to join my friends, I realized that by the time I got ready and made it down to the pool area, it would almost be closing time, and not only would I have missed out on a nice soak, but I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to converse with my peeps. I decided to forgo the swimsuit and just hang out poolside so I could at least reap some benefit from my visit.

I meandered towards the chair that was closest to the tub. I picked up the towels on the chair, assuming they belonged to my friend when I heard a shriek.

Time began moving in slow motion.

As my eyes glanced down I saw it, spinning in mid-air towards the water. One of our handsy tweens had stuck her phone in her towel and it was plummeting towards the waters of cellphones past.

I cringed.

Instinctively my friend dove, hands outstretched towards the phone. As the device pierced water level, my normally less-than-coordinated friend swatted the phone in the air and then grabbed it, tossed it back to me and yelled, “Pull out the battery! Hurry!”

I quickly dismantled the phone, thereby rescuing it from any serious damage.

Hooray for miracles!

I would not be surprised if the owner of the phone pooped a little in her pants during the ordeal. I know I did. And now I understand why they put chlorine in the pool.

I’m sorry cell phone girl, for doing that to you.