Ding-Dong-Ditch, Drop, Dad, Dead

I was a substitute teacher during the school year, but in the summer, I didn’t have a regular job. I did do online tutoring, though, to make ends meet. I would work at my computer, which was at a built-in desk in my apartment near the front door.

One summer day, a group of bored pre-teens decided to play ding-dong-ditch — a game/prank where you ring someone’s doorbell and then run away. Since I was one of the few adults at home, my apartment was a target. The first couple of times were slightly amusing, but after that, I was just getting annoyed. They were ringing my doorbell about every five minutes, so after the fourth time, I made sure to stand next to the door.

When they rang, I almost immediately opened the door. I just saw scurrying feet running into the apartment diagonal from mine. I also heard the clattering of one boy’s cell phone, as it had dropped out of one of his pockets. (It turned out to belong to the boy who lived in the diagonal apartment.) I picked it up and went back into my apartment.

This occurred before phones typically had lock codes, so I could pull up the contacts. I called the one labeled “Dad” and told him the circumstances of why I had his son’s cell phone. He agreed to pick it up after he got home.

A couple of minutes later, I heard a polite knock on the door. I didn’t open it but talked through the door.

Me: “Hello?”

Kid: “Sir, did you find a cell phone on the floor out here?”

Me: “Yes. I contacted ‘Dad’, and he’ll be getting it this evening.”

Kid: *Sigh*