So, I’m a little directionally challenged. I’ve always had a hard time knowing where I’m going. Well, more like knowing how to get there.
In my earlier married days, my husband used to drive and have me navigate. I hated those days. It was the Stone Age before it was standard to have a built in GPS in your car. We used a good old fashioned map. Or I attempted to.
There I would sit in the passenger’s seat sweat pooling on my forehead as my finger touched the place where we should be on the map. Turning the guide sideways with every turn meant eventually I was looking at it upside down. My husband would just shake his head and mutter something like, “amateur.”
Yes I know most people can look at a map that’s pointed north and know they are heading south and just switch the directions in their head. I am not one of those people. I remember once living in California when I navigated us to the mountains but instead we ended up on a dirt road that dead ended. For the record, that was not our destination. Ooooh, so that’s what that little dashed line is on the map.
Fortunately, my hubby doesn’t need me any more to get around. He has a talking British lady who tells him not only when and where to turn but if he doesn’t listen, she recalculates the route. I could do no such thing. Way too much pressure.
However, I must still get myself around. And sometimes, well, I get confused. For instance, the other day I was heading to an office building I hadn’t been to before. I saw the address a second too late and turned in just past where I wanted to be.
There was a wall to my right and then a parking ticket meter straight ahead. A car sat there in front of me, so I waited and contemplated what to do. Was this where I grab the ticket to park in the office lot? How much would it cost and would they validate it? And why, oh why isn’t this car in front of me moving? How long does it possibly take to grab a parking ticket?
All these thoughts were running through my mind when my daughter non chalantly asked me, “why are you going in to the Taco Bell drive thru?”
In my defense, that yellow bar way up high could easily have been mistaken for the kind of bar that stops you from entering the parking garage. And that speaker box up ahead where you apparently order food, could pop out parking tickets instead. Couldn’t it?
Well, I thought so. My daughter just shook her head at me and muttered something like, “amateur.”