Here’s the deal. I suck at directions. I am not a guru at finding my way around. I am not a guru of even finding my way home. I can’t even find my way back to a spot that I once might’ve accidentally ended up at. My geographical clock never started. I am a navigational nightmare.
It’s a weird phenomenon, me and directions. I can be walking down the street with 46 other people and a car will pull up TO ME, the one who lives in an eternal state of confusion, and continue to ask for directions. I was just walking with a dude wearing an Atlas compass sandwich board with a weather vane headband, holding a Mapquest briefcase, and the precious lady picks me. I just don’t get it.
On the flip side, if I am lost, or we are living in prehistoric times prior to Mapquests and GPS’s and Siris, and I meander into a gas station to ask for directions, then all hope is lost. Already. Because if I know myself like I think I do, I am pretty sure that I didn’t grab a notepad so that I can jot down all of the: “See that stop sign there? Take that north, then go 3 miles, turn northwest at the fork right before that southern dead end, take that for 4.3 milliseconds until you see a red barn, where you will U-turn, jump back on the highway, take that west to exit 43, then…” Omg did he say stop sign?
I am so disoriented! Here’s a Haiku on my feelings about my directionally challenged mindcluster:
Oh no, which way do I turn?
North, east, west or south
Confused asshat in my brain.
Sometimes it really sucks to have all of these fantastic flaws! I’ve been thinking, and this list is actually extremely long, so here’s a condensed list of jobs that I’ll never acquire:
1. Air traffic controller. I can just visualize my stupid ass on the runway. With my stupid air traffic controller wand things in my hands, looking around, telling the first plane to just “Land over here, son!” Then, flagging the second plane to land on the north landing pad, but since I have no idea where north is, I just tell that plane to chill out for a minute and maybe take a coffee break so that my co-worker Mike can come relieve me out here in hell’s fury while my IBS starts to rumble.
2. Limo driver/taxi driver/Uber driver. Seriously – I can hear it now: “Please take us to Bryant Park!” Me, writes down on a pad of paper: “Excuse me, dear souls, it seems as if my laryngitis is affecting my usual sense of phenomenal direction, therefore, would you be so lovely as to remind me where to go?” (I become very polite and English when I am faced with stress). Them: “NORTH!” Aggggghhh!!!
3. Police officer. “Attention all units, there is a 543 taking place right now heading southwest with the license tag Alpha, Kappa, Gamma, Ding Dong, and we need back up STAT!” Me: Shit.
4. Front desk person. It’s not so bad these days, but back in the day, Lord have mercy. First of all, I cannot help that you didn’t screen me beforehand, so that’s kind of on you, and second, even so, I am downright screwed. Because the accountability is solo. There are just so many empty lines that I can transfer these calls to: “Yes, (it always gets me so jacknobbed when people start off their sentence with “YES…”) can you tell me how to get to you from West Highway Crapdong if I take the Interstate, getting off on exit 80 or 212?” Uh, Hello?” They’re just going to keep calling back until they reach someone competent.
5. Law firm or advertising proof runner. This shouldn’t need explaining, but I actually used to have one of these jobs. And, it was before the GPS or iPhone invention. Luckily, nobody ever questioned the fact that there was a “34 item a day to be delivered quota” and I just barely delivered one. Per day. Again, why hire an imbecile? Not my fault. I’m sure somewhere on this planet, there is a Google Earth photo, where if you zoomed in super tight, you can see me with my stupid road map sprawled out all over my steering wheel with an “I just saw a three headed cow/unicorn baby” look on my face. WTF!
I would definitely say that the invention of GPS certainly helps. It most definitely helps directional dumbasses out somewhat, but it certainly isn’t fool proof. We can’t navigate our way through life without any more mishaps, or suspecting glances.
I guess since there’s nothing that can be done to completely curtail this cringetastic characteristic in the future, I’ll continue with my dry runs (this one is actually not related to IBS), I’ll leave for interviews, courthouses, driver’s license bureaus, or work still – (I’ve only worked there for 2 years, so my learning curve is still rather high. I mean, it takes someone doing something 560 times before it becomes a habit, so I’m still golden) and all those places that I’m unfamiliar with, 2 hours before I actually have to be there in order to ascertain the arrival of the mighty, all knowing, omnipotent one to where I probably wasn’t even invited in the first place.