Toe-ing The Line

I have had the most difficult time concentrating on work today. The problem began when – earlier today – I read a news blurb about a man who had dialed 911 with his toe. Intrigued, I immediately clicked through to the story. It was tantalizing short and bereft of key details. What I do know is this: A man in Florida was somehow trapped in some sort of machinery with his arms pinned to his side. He managed to knock his cell phone off his belt, kick off one shoe, and then dial 911 with HIS BIG TOE.

Amazing.

It is OBVIOUS that this man is some sort of super-being. I stared at the computer screen, frustrated by the lack of answers. How had this man knocked his phone off? How had be pinned himself in the first place? How did he get to the phone’s keypad? Did he have to open the phone first? Most importantly, HOW did he dial the RIGHT number with a BIG TOE?? And then he must have hit “send,” no? I sat for a moment longer, overwhelmed by the magnitude of this man’s abilities.

Slowly, my eyes slid to my own feet, tucked under my desk. Could I dial a number with MY big toe? I lifted my gaze and looked around the office space. The cubicles around me were filled with co-workers, clicking away on their keyboards.

Stop it. I told myself firmly. You are NOT taking your shoe off, and you are DEFINITELY not putting your foot on your phone. That’s disgusting.

I sighed and looked back at my computer, trying to focus on the project in front of me. A few moments later, I felt my left foot slip its shoe off. Wicked thing. Well, I thought, my spirits lifting, since it’s off I might as well check out my toe’s dexterity. No sense in wasting the opportunity.

Sliding away from my desk, I peeked underneath into the foot space. There was no phone down there, but there was a bundle of cords. I could work with that, I thought. My foot reached toward a bright orange cord, and my toes wrapped themselves around it. I lifted my foot, but the cord stayed where it was. I poked my head under the desktop for a better look. There was clearly not enough “give” in the cord, so I wedged half of my body under the desk and tugged at it. Mission accomplished, I popped back out and smiled at the co-worker staring at me from across the divide.

Serenely, I pulled my chair back into place and pulled up an important-looking screen on my computer. Purposefully, I scrolled up and down the page, endeavoring to look occupied with strategic sorts of things.

A few moments later, after confirming the “clear coast,” I once again reached for the cord with my toes. Success!! I nearly chortled in delight.

Unfortunately, the glee was short lived. Within minutes, my mind began tormenting me again. Sure, it said, you can pick up a CORD. But who can’t do that? What does that prove? You know what would be REALLY impressive? If you could dial a phone number. Yep. That would be cool. But I guess we’ll never know if you’re capable…. Oh well.

You may be getting a feel for what sort of day it’s been. While I’ve resisted the “lure of the phone experiment” thus far, I have serious fears regarding what might happen when I am safely ensconced in the privacy of my own apartment.

The more I think about it, though, the more I’m feeling as if I almost have a RESPONSIBILITY to see if I can dial a number with my toes. After all, I have no idea of how that man became trapped. What if it happened to me? If I am one day trapped, my arms pinned, I am positive that I would regret that I never practiced dialing my phone with my toes. When put into perspective, it seems that it should be required training, like CPR. I can feel my toes valiantly straining against the interior of my shoes, eager to do their duty in learning this lifesaving skill. Yes, I reassure myself, we will be prepared. Tonight, we will arm ourselves with preparation. No machinery will hold us hostage without reprieve. No tiny keypads will thwart us. We (the collective body parts) are survivors. The phone, unfortunately, will have to be disposed of, as it will be contaminated with toe germs. This will prove tricky when I need it to call for help, but I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.

Original story: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24434271/