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Odd Angles
Landmark events: I don't take direction well, although I give it pretty good. One might say I give direction expertly, if one were my husband, who really meant that I'm bossy.
I am directionally challenged in the geographic sense. I don't do east or north. And I'm not particularly fond of south and west (Wicked Witch of the West -- look what happened to her). In my own defense, who travels using compass directions anymore? What am I, a tracker for Lewis and Clark? We're in an age of cake batter ice cream, video bowling and online driver's license renewal, so explain why I have to check the position of the sun to get to Falls Church.
I am grateful that my husband enjoys driving as much as he hates passenger-ing. And luckily, or pathetically, I don't have many occasions to drive solo beyond 30 miles of home. Therefore, my episodes of lost are limited to Thursday nights (ABC) and trying to find the entrance to drive-thru fast food.
However, when I do venture beyond my comfort zone, I'm a fish out of water. A middle-aged (if one lived in biblical times) fish more content in her small bowl, swimming circles around tiny ceramic Target and Giant stores.
Last spring my daughter and I were leaving a luncheon that celebrated a school award she won. We made it to the hall where it was held in under 40 minutes; a navigational miracle, in retrospect. The trip home took us nearly two hours.
According to my husband, at one point I was in "The Mixing Bowl," which is as confusing as it sounds. Hint for civil engineers: If "mix" is in the name, the plan is too complex. Stick with the kitchen metaphor, but shoot for something straightforward, like "The Butter Knife" or "The Cookie Sheet."
Here is the initial call to my husband.
Me: "I'M LOST!"
Him: "Calm down."
Me: "I AM CALM!!!"
Daughter: "Mom, you're scaring me."
Him: "Can you see any big, recognizable buildings?"
Me: "I see a big truck."
Him:
Me:
Him: "What do the road signs say?"
Me: "One said Potomac Mills. Or river. Yard?"
Him: "I'm going to need more information."
Me, in halting sobs: "I'M LOST -- that's all you need to know!"
Daughter: "I wish I never won that stupid award!"
My husband is implausibly patient when I am in this state, and every state in which I've gotten lost. That's because after 26 years, he knows that getting lost is my biggest fear. It dwarfs rats, public speaking, three-way mirrors and cookbooks.
It all began when I walked away from my family to follow a Girl Scout troop that was marching in a Memorial Day parade. Even then their cookies were my Pied Piper. I still follow anyone wearing a green sash and smelling faintly of Thin Mints. It took my parents five hours, two squad cars and a helicopter to find me.
Since then, the best method for me to find my way is with common landmarks. I'm hoping the folks at MapQuest recognize this need and offer directions using shopping centers, chain restaurants and soccer fields. My dream directions:
a. Text: "Make a right at Giant, a left at Bank of America and another left at the playground with the tire swing."
b. Map: Destination marked with a giant Thin Mint.
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