Have you ever forgotten your phone?
When did you realize you'd forgotten it? I'm guessing you didn't just smack your forehead and exclaimed "Damn!" aprops of nothing.
The realization probably didn't dawn on you spontaneously, more likely you reached for your phone,
Bawling open your pocket or handbag and were momentarily confused by it not being there.
Then you did a re-step of the morning's events.
Shit.
In my case, my phone's alarm woke me up as normal,
but I realized my battery was lower than I expected.
It was a new phone, and I had this annoying habit of leaving applications running that drain the battery overnight.
So I put it on the charge while I showered instead of in my bag like normal.
it was a momentary slip from the routine, but...
that was all a took.
Once in the shower my brain got back into the routine it follows every morning, and that was it.
Forgotten.
This wasn't just me being clumsy as I later researched.
This is a recognized brain function your brain doesn't just work on one level,
it works on many like -
When you're walking somewhere,
You think about your destination and avoiding hazards?
But you don't think about keeping your legs moving properly. If you did then the entire world
would just turned into one massive hilarious QWOP Cosplay.
I wasn't thinking about regulating my breathing, I was thinking about whether I should grab a coffee on the drive the work,
I did.
I was thinking about moving my breakfast through my intestines
I was wondering whether I'd finish on time to pick up my daughter Emily from Nursery after work,
or just get stuck with another late fee.
This is the thing.
There's a level of your brain that just deals with a routine so that the rest of the brain can think about other things.
Just think about it think about your last commute. What do you actually remember?
Little, if anything, probably.
Most common journeys blur into one and recalling any one in particular is scientifically proven to be difficult.
Do something off than enough and it becomes a routine,
keep doing it and it just stops being processed in the thinking bit of the brain
and gets relegated to a part of the brain
that's just dedicated to dealing with routine.
Your brain keeps doing it without you thinking about it.
Soon you think about your route to work about as much as you do keeping your legs moving when you walk,
as in,
not at all.
Most people call it Autopilot,
But there's danger there.
If you have a break in your routine,
your ability to remember and account for the break is only as good as your ability to stop your brain from going to Routine mode.
My ability to remember my phone being on the counter is solely as reliable as my ability to stop my brain
from entering "Morning Routine" mode
which would dictate that my phone is actually in my bag.
But that didn't stop my brain entering routine mode. I got the shower as normal,
routine started,
exception forgotten.
Autopilot Engaged.
My brain was back in the routine.
I showered, and I shaved, the radio forecasted amazing weather.
I gave Emily her breakfast and loaded her into the car.
She was so adorable that morning that she complained about the "bad sun" in the morning blinding her,
Saying it stopped her having a little sleep on the way to nursery.
And I left.
That was the routine. It didn't matter that my phone was on the counter charging silently.
My brain was in the routine and in the routine my phone was in my bag.
This is why I forgot my phone. Not clumsiness, not negligence,
Nothing more than my brain entering Routine mode and overriding the exception.
Autopilot Engaged.
I left for work, it was a swelchingly hot day already.
The bad sun had been burning since before my traitorously absent phone woke me.
The steering wheel was burning hot to the touch when I sat down.
I think I heard Emily shift over behind my driver's seat to get out of the glare.
But I got to work,
submitted the report, attended the morning meeting.
It's not until I took a quick coffee break and reached out for my phone that the illusion shattered.
I did a memo-restep.
I remembered the dying battery.
I remember putting it out to charge.
I remember leaving it there.
My phone was on the counter.
Autopilot Disengaged.
Again, therein lies the danger.
Until you have that moment the moment you reach for your phone to shatter the illusion,
that part of the Brain is still in Routine mode.
It has no reason to question the facts of the routine.
That's why it's a routine.
Attrition of repetition, it's not as if anyone could say "Why didn't you remember your phone? Didn't it occur to you?"
"How could you forget? He must be negligent?"
This is to miss the point.
The brain was telling me the Routine was completed as normal despite the fact it wasn't.
It wasn't that I forgot my phone
According to my brain - according to the routine,
My phone. Was in. My bag.
Why would I think the question it?
Why would I check?
Why would I suddenly remember out of nowhere that my phone was on the counter?
My brain was wired into the routine,
and the routine was that my phone was in my bag
The day continued to bake.
The morning haze gave way to the relentless fever heat of the afternoon.
Tarmac bubbled. The direct beams of the sun threatened to crack the pavement.
People swapped coffees for ice smoothies.
Jackets discarded, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, brows mopped.
The parks slowly filled with sunbathers and barbecues.
Window frames threatened to warm. The thermometer continued to swell.
Thank fuck the offices were air-conditioned.
But, as ever, the furnace of the day gave way to a cooler evening.
Another day another dollar.
Still cursing myself for forgetting my phone,
I drove home.
The day's heat had baked the inside of the car,
releasing a horrible smell from somewhere.
When I arrived in the driveway, the stones crunching comfortingly under my tires,
my wife greeted me at the door.
"Where's Emily?"
Fuck.
As if the phone wasn't bad enough.
After everything I'd left Emily at the fucking nursery after all.
I immediately sped back to the nursery. I got to the door and started practicing my excuses,
wondering vainly if I could charm my way out of a late fee.
I saw a piece of paper stuck to the door.
"Due to vandalism overnight, please use side door. Today only."
Overnight? What?
The door was fine this morni...
I froze.
My knees shook.
Vandals.
A change in the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
I hadn't been here this morning.
My phone was on the counter.
I'd driven past because I was drinking my coffee.
I'd not dropped off Emily.
My phone was on the counter.
She moved her seat. I hadn't seen her in the mirror.
My phone was on the counter.
She'd fallen asleep out of the bad sun.
She didn't speak when I drove past her nursery.
My phone was on the counter.
She changed the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
She changed the routine and I had forgotten to drop her off.
My phone was on the counter.
Nine hours.
That car.
That baking sun.
No air. No water. No power. No help.
That heat.
Steering wheel too hot to touch.
That smell.
I walked to the car door.
No
Shock.
I open the door.
My phone was on the counter,
and my daughter was dead.
Autopilot Disengaged.