First of all, it’s important that you know that Mireya is perfectly fine. Absolutely fine. And that technology is often not our friend.

Ever since Mireya got a job at Stars and Stripes Drive-In, I have turned into a bit of a momma stalker. I worry about her driving home so late so I track her phone as she leaves, watching her little blue dot cruising around the hills like Pac-Man.

Generally, I don’t check about her getting to work, but for some reason on Saturday night I decided to check my phone. And her little blue dot wasn’t at work. Her little blue dot wasn’t on the way to work. Her little blue dot was at the end of a road we’ve never even heard of about three miles away.

I stared at the little blue dot. It didn’t move. I thought, you know what, I’ll just text her. No response. I called her. Of course at work she’s not allowed to have her phone. So when she didn’t answer her phone, that technically didn’t mean anything.

Technically.

I started to freak out. Like a woman who has watched way too many murder mysteries, I told Adam, my husband, who is a man who watches way too many murder documentaries. Now we were both freaking out. We practically flew down the stairs and jumped in the car. On the way to the mysterious blue dot, I called the drive-in. You know, I never noticed, but there are many, many, many long automated messages on the drive-in phone answering system. I eventually left a message as we squealed around corners headed up a dark hill and through a gate. Then I called the owner of the drive-in, who very kindly didn’t call me crazy and gave me the direct number to the drive-in office.

I started to dial as we hurdled up the hill. In no time, we were within shouting distance of the blue dot. Adam jumped out of the car, shouting for Mireya. I finally got through to someone at the drive-in. I asked if Mireya was there. A truck started down the hill in front of us. Adam frantically stopped the driver.

“Yes. She’s right here,” the voice said over the phone.

“Really?” I said, my voice slightly hysterical. “She has curly hair?”

“Um, yeah,” the voice said.

I shouted to Adam who was talking to the driver of the pickup truck who was attempting to be both sympathetic and helpful while talking to two lunatics. “It’s okay, she’s at work!”

On the way home, we were still wondering if we should head to the drive-in. What if it wasn’t Mireya but someone named Maria, because no one can pronounce Mireya’s name? We texted the owner and said everything was fine. The drive-in manager called us back (since I’d left a hysterical message) and didn’t even scoff when we asked if it would be okay if we talked to Mireya for just a second.

“I’m fine,” Mireya said when she came to the phone, clearly confused about what the fuss was.

Eventually, Mireya’s blue dot was restored to its correct place after she restarted her phone. Our adrenaline finally wore off. It was a happy ending. But one thing for sure – I’m never going to trust that dumb blue dot again.

Winter Prosapio is a writer, a wife, and a working mom of two girls, two cats, and one ridiculously enthusiastic terrier mix.

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