The Last Place You Look

After I’ve been waiting for a good ten minutes, the woman from Venezuela comes back to try on the rain booties I brought out for her. Her daughter gives positive feedback to the various choices, and things seem to be proceeding smoothly, until the mother reaches for her phone to send a photo to her husband, and her phone is gone.

Some words are exchanged between the two ladies in rapid fire Spanish, and pockets are turned inside out, jackets are shaken and tossed aside, bags are dug through, but no luck, so the woman sends her daughter downstairs to check while she finishes up with me.

When the daughter comes back empty-handed, the woman dashes off to try and find it, while the daughter and I do another search, only to find it sitting under the woman’s bag.