The split second between dropping your phone and seeing it fall into the toilet is a horrible eternity
It certainly was when I dropped my phone in the toilet.
The scene played out like the penultimate moments of a teen basketball movie. The phone bounced around the rim of the bog in what felt like slow motion, as the seconds counted down on the clock of doom.
Once. Twice. Three times, and plop.
In the movie this would be the moment when the crowd goes wild, the home side snatching a last-minute victory, and the dashing captain of the team embraces his cheerleader girlfriend, promising that he’ll never neglect her again.
Instead I just yelled into my toilet.
You never think it could happen to you. Dropping your phone in the toilet is something that happens to other people. “Poor Martha,” your mum tells you on the phone. “Her son Mark dropped his phone in the toilet. He was only 39.”
But if it can happen to me, it can happen to you. I’ve got a new phone now, but the horror of that moment will live with me forever. I’ve also stopped watching Jonjo Shelvey skills and goals compilations near the toilet. Lesson learned.
