cell phone in my back pocket

I had one of those incredibly embarrassing event Monday afternoon. I hopped off the plane, caught a ride home with Jimmy the Cab Driver, unloaded the gear, and carried myself downtown to make a deposit. Passing the coffee shop, I stopped long enough to get something cool to drink, on my way towards the bank. Somebody had a cell phone that just kept ringing, while I was standing in line to get my drink order, and it was in my back pocket. It’s not a good thing. Why bother to carry a phone if I don’t answer it? But it was under the tail of my shirt so I never really thought it was mine which was ringing. So much for cell phones. After stopping at the bank, actually, while I was stopping at the bank, an unusual series of events began, first, a client from out of town recognized me, then, as I was just peeling my shirt off in the summer heat, another client almost ran into me on Congress Avenue, and finally, after a late meal — I put my shirt back on — I ran into another one of them pesky Gemini’s. But I’m still embarrassed about the cell phone in my back pocket.