ATTENTION: You’re about to read about a recent field trip I attended. But please note, this is NO review. This is my field trip horror story. Also please note, I LOVED the trip so please know that my story is completely irrelevant to my feelings toward and about Boston University. This is just a short story about a tiny fraction of my newspaper field trip experience.
About a week ago, HHS News Club got the outstanding opportunity to take a field trip to Boston University for the New England Scholastic Press Association annual conference. Not every single club member was able to attend, but the majority of us were, and we had a blast. At 7 in the morning, eight of us piled into a large white van driven by none other than Mrs. McHugh, and we went from there. Callie MacDonald, who was riding shotgun, was constantly changing the radio stations (which I truly enjoyed because I love a nice song change every so often). Overall, I was enjoying the van ride, peacefully gazing out the window. However, if I could change one thing, it would be the loud growling noise that was emanating from my stomach. On this beautiful Friday, Andrea and I had woken up late, per usual, so I wasn’t able to get the multi-grain bagel at Dunkin Donuts that I was expecting.
So anyway, here I am in the van, stomach growling, sitting with my left side pressed against the interior of the van. There was a pull-out cup holder next to me, and beside that was a little black slot which looked like what used to be a cigarette disposal. However, the plastic part was ripped out and it was just a black rectangular slot into the van. After being in the van for a while, my hands grew tired of holding my phone, and I casually looked around for somewhere to put it. I don’t know what exactly what was going on in my mind at this moment, but I had an impulse and, before you knew it, my iPhone 5s was being shot down the black “cigarette disposal” slot. I heard my phone slide down the metal “bones” of the van and then I heard it drop to the bottom. Trying to stay calm, I laughed it off and acted as though I didn’t care that my phone was gone forever. Most everyone in the van was laughing at me and teasing me because I mistook the “slot-of-no-return” for an “iPhone cubby.” Nevertheless, we were on the highway and there really was nothing we could do about my phone disappearing into the void. We all lowered our voices as I dialed my number on Andrea’s phone. I let out a sigh of relief when I could just barely hear my ringtone playing from inside the bottom of the van. To me it sounded less like a ringtone and more like crying. I like to think that my phone is my “baby” and at this moment it needed me, and i needed it.
After the rest of my iPhone-less van ride, we arrived at the parking garage for Boston University. Leaving my phone all alone while I spent a day in Boston was not ideal, but I had no other choice. Throughout the day I would reach into my purse hoping that my phone would somehow be in there, but sadly I would find nothing but gum wrappers and dirty coins. I felt a sense of emptiness. Hours had gone by with my phone still in the van. A whole day at Boston University and I had not texted, tweeted, instagrammed, snap chatted, or even taken a picture.
Fast forward a few hours, and the HHS News Club was back in the van for the drive home. We all sat in the same seats as before, again with my shoulder pressed tightly against the left side interior. For the whole ride back to Hanover, I argued with my own thoughts, telling myself to stop worrying. I pondered how I would confess to my parents that my iPhone had been swallowed by a rental van. One part of me believed I shouldn’t worry, that my phone would be back in my hands in no time, while the other part of me was already brainstorming how much money I would need for a new one. A small frown stained my face as we pulled into the high school parking lot. My phone was gone.
As everyone hopped out of the van, they wished me a good luck and waved a goodbye. “Let me check this out,” said the determined Mrs. McHugh as she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the driver’s seat. Mrs. McHugh came into the back of the van, looked over the area where my phone dropped, and pried open the entire side. MRS. MCHUGH SAVED THE DAY. None of us ever thought I would see my phone again. I can honestly say Mrs. McHugh saved my phone, and my whole life basically. For anybody who knows me, you know that I have a hard time going a few hours without my phone. Thank you Mrs. Mchugh! I will never forget this “interesting” day.
Epilogue, by Mrs. McHugh: About a week later, Lauren got locked out of her phone and had to reset everything. She lost her contacts, her pictures, everything. Lauren, I’m sorry that I could not save the day when you needed it again.