Oh us men! We hate asking for directions. Why is it? Because we dislike having to ask a 17-year-old boy at a convenience store or a foreign guy who speaks broken English for life advice. They know how to find the bridge you’re looking for. They are officially sexier in the eyes of your wife than you are.
I’m no different when it comes to directions. I rarely ask for them. I will though, if my life is in the balance. Still, asking for directions can be worse than death. That look they give you like you’re making up a place. They’ve never heard of I-95. I thought it ran from Maine to Florida. Did I dream up an interstate highway?
(It’s impossible to dream in color and since this map is in color, it cannot be a dream)
My sense of direction is pretty damn good in general. I could never get lost in the woods. If Heather Donahue (no clue how I still remember her name) from the Blair Witch Project had been friends with me and invited me to go along with them, I would have kicked the map into the river on the first day and said “It’s okay, I’ve got another map. It’s right here.” then tapped my temple. Nobody would have gotten killed.
I have a GPS system which I can’t really use for more than 5 minutes before it dies. My car’s cigarette lighter doesn’t work. That was never a problem because I don’t smoke. It’s only a problem because that’s where electronic devices should be plugged in. I have to rely on my own feelings to get around. Recently I was using my GPS system to try to get home and it died .2 miles away from the left turn I needed. I decided that I would turn around and sit in the parking lot of where I was and cry until someone realized I was missing. My over/under was 4 days. I think it would take me that long to go missing. Before someone actually noticed I wasn’t around. It’d be someone stupid that would realize too like the mailman. I get a lot of coupons in the mail and he’d realize something was up when they were starting to overflow out of the mail slot. I don’t think he’d do anything. Probably figure I’m on vacation. That’s why it’s imperative that I don’t get lost. Nobody will realize I’m gone.
(Is she not wearing pants or is the mailman a known Klansman and she’s scared?)
The worst times I ever got lost seem to be in Pennsylvania. This is a big problem because in New Jersey we have our gas pumped for us. I’m sure I could figure out how to do it if need be, but still it’s something new. New equals scary. One time I was driving through Pennsylvania trying to get somewhere. I won’t mention the place so let’s pretend it was a strip club for children. Not that the strippers are children, but they do things to entertain children while topless. I don’t know what those things might be. Maybe they squirt milk out of their breasts or dress up like Blue’s Clues characters. I got incredibly lost on my way there. I finally decided that after two hours of driving around I should ask for directions. I stopped at a Dairy Queen and asked them if they knew how to get to the Children’s Strip Club. They said they had never heard of it and asked what town it was in. I told them and the workers turned to each other like they had never heard of the town. The oldest and ugliest Dairy Queen worker said “You’re a long way from home sweetheart.” I didn’t have time to explain to her that I didn’t live in the area and that even if I was at the Children’s Strip Club it would be a long way away from home. Actually, is 30 miles a long way away? I don’t think so. I think she was trying to bully me into getting a Blizzard with Snickers on top.
(Those strawberries look so out-of-place in this diabetic disaster)
I continued driving hoping that I could at this point just find my way home. The problem with going from New Jersey to Pennsylvania is that there’s this cockface in between the two states called The Delaware River. You have to use a bridge at all times to get across from state to state. That really limits your options. This is the same stupid river that George Washington crossed to kill a bunch of Hessians. You know that famous painting of him in the boat with his foot up? Yeah, that’s the cockface river that I’m talking about. It’s caused me more anguish than any other body of water.
(The Delaware River isn’t nearly this rough. It mostly smells bad more than anything else from all the dead Hessians who were tossed into it)
I was still driving because that’s how I spent the last 5 hours of my life. My phone was dying, my car was running out of gas, and everything around me seemed to be closed. My dad tried finding directions for me but I don’t think he even knew who he was talking to. I found a bait shop that was closing. I frantically pounded on the screen door as it began to rain. The bait shop man took pity on me. He gave me directions without making me buy any worms. I guess he figured that it was raining now and that worms would be plentiful. Supply and demand.
Somehow I managed to follow his directions correctly. I crossed over a tiny little bridge and made my way back home to New Jersey. I was the first person to ever enter the state with a smile. Usually it’s holding your nose and going really fast hoping that you don’t get a flat tire in the process. There’s no real moral to this story other than don’t be a nag if you’re not the one driving. Eventually, we all find our ways back home. Except for old people. You should always worry about them. Sometimes they get in their station wagons and are never heard from again. Pretty nice of them. Burials and cremations are really damn expensive.