Autopilot

Have you ever forgotten your phone? When did you realize you'd forgotten it? It probably didn't dawn on you spontaneously. More likely, you reached for your phone and were confused by it not being there. Then you did a mental re-step of the morning's events. In my case, my phone's alarm woke me up as usual. But I realized the battery was lower than I expected, so I put it on the counter to charge while I showered instead of it in my bag like normal. It was a momentary slip from the routine, but that was all it took. Once in the shower, my brain got back into the routine it follows every morning and that was it, forgotten. 

This wasn't just me being clumsy as I later researched. This is a recognized brain function. Your brain doesn't just work on one level, it works on many. One could never be thinking about just exactly one thing at once. It makes you follow a constant routine so that your brain can focus on other things like the fact that I wasn't thinking about regulating my breathing. I wasn't thinking of moving my food properly down my throat, I was thinking whether I would finish on time to drop my daughter off at daycare. I wasn't thinking of getting enough sleep, I was thinking of maybe grabbing a coffee before work. Most people call this phenomenon ' Autopilot '. But this ability can be dangerous. If you have a break in your routine, the ability to remember is only good if you break the Brain from entering back into the routine mode.

I didn't stop my brain from entering a routine mode. I got into the shower as normal routine started, and exception ( phone ) forgotten. AUTOPILOT ENGAGED. I showered, shaved, the radio weather forecast said amazing weather. I gave my daughter breakfast and loaded her in the car. She was so adorable that morning that she complained about the bad sun blinding her, saying that it stopped her from having a little sleep before daycare. That was the routine, It didn't matter that my phone was on the counter. I was in a routine, and in the routine, my phone was in my bag. This is why forgot my phone, not clumsiness, nothing more than just my brain entering the routine mode. AUTOPILOT ENGAGED.

 I left for work, and It is a swelteringly hot day, the bad sun has been burning since morning. The steering wheel was too hot to touch. When I sat in the car, I heard my daughter shift over to the seat behind me to hide from the sun. I got to work, submitted my reports. The day continued to grill, news spoke of a tremendous heatwave and heat strokes. Coffees were swapped for iceteas, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened and brows moped. Thank god that the offices are air conditioned! 

It wasn't until the time, that I took a quick break and checked for my phone. The illusion shattered as I found it not being there. AUTOPILOT DISENGAGED. I did a mental re-step, I woke up, put my phone on the counter to charge, went for a shower and forgot it there. Meanwhile, the thermometer continued to swell and the news cautioned little kids prone to dehydration, strokes and other serious casualties. 

Still cursing myself for forgetting my phone, I drove home. The continuous heat of the day baked the inside of the car releasing a horrible smell. When I arrived home, my wife greeted me at the driveway and questioned, '' Where's our Daughter? ''. Shit! I forgot to pick her up from the daycare. AUTOPILOT DISENGAGED. I drove frantically through town, on the way practicing excuses for being tardy. As soon as I reached there, the sign on the door said, '' DUE TO VANDALISM OVERNIGHT, USE SIDE DOOR FOR TODAY ONLY ''. '' Vandalism? what? That wasn't there this mor...'' I realized.

My phone was on the counter. I hadn't come here this morning. My phone was on the counter. I drove past the daycare while drinking coffee. My phone was on the counter. She moved her seat behind me, I didn't see her from the front mirror. My phone was on the counter. She'd fallen asleep due to the bad sun. She didn't speak when I drove past the daycare. My phone was on the counter. She changed the routine! she changed the routine and I forgot to drop her off. Nine hours, that car, that baking sun, no water, no air, no help, steering too hot to touch, little children, heat strokes, severe casualties, nine hours...and that smell in the car. I walked to the car and opened the back seat door, numb, shocked. I opened the door, my phone was on the counter, and my daughter was dead. AUTOPILOT DISENGAGED.