For a moment, the Happiest Place on Earth was Hell on Earth.

I was ready to get my picture with Pooh, hang with friends who'd come from Palm Springs, Calif., and Chicago, and absorb the Magical Kingdom's special blend of fairy tales and naked consumerism that makes me a worshipper at the Disney altar.

And then my cell phone drowned.

I hadn't even gotten into the park yet. I opened my purse (stitched leather and therefore sealed all over) for the security staff when I found — no joke — a lake in there, a good 6 inches deep. Apparently an eager kid at The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf had cracked my bottle of water for me and it ejected its contents on the half-mile walk between my car and the gate.

Cue the sad trombone: Wah, wah, whhhaaaaaaah. Goodbye phone. Goodbye digital camera.

My friend, Ken, whom I miraculously found near the gate without benefit of cell phone, was bummed for my loss of the camera. It was a Canon, lots of megapixels, lots of storage, relatively new and certainly more expensive than the phone.

But, no, I was freaking out over the phone.

His view of my reaction, unedited by me:

Take a deep breath. It's just a phone and this is an excuse to get a new fancy one anyway. So just relax. Now, can I get you something? How about a bottle of water? Too soon?

Ken had to take possession of the phone so I didn't ruin the day with all my stressing. He tried to dry it out by holding it up high during the big plunge on Splash Mountain — I saw it on the "Flash Mountain" snapshot Disney takes just as the car tips into the abyss. It was hilarious and I cried with laughter — probably in part because I felt sheepish about all my whining.

But I had to whine! I was unplugged!

It's not like I can't go a few hours without gabbing or texting with friends and family. But I don't have a land line, so this was my primary connection to everyone. I didn't have anyone's numbers on me — they were all programmed into this contraption with an LCD screen clouded over with condensation. There were very few phone numbers I could remember. And worse! My father's retirement was the next day and I knew people would be trying to call me — and would be going straight to my voice mail.

The cost of replacing a crummy phone I could stomach. But for about 30 hours, until I flew home to Honolulu the following day and hit the Sprint store, I was adrift, cut off from the interconnected life.

I'm sure that sounds like paradise to some.

But I'm part of the network now. I'm lost without a signal.

Reach Christine Strobel at cstrobel@honoluluadvertiser.com.