Direction

Over the years I’ve noticed something strange. Apparently, I am the type of person that looks like I know where I am going – even when I don’t. People have interrupted me as I was rocking out at a stop light, “Which way is the hospital?”

I’ve been asked to give directions in cities like New York and Paris – while this is ego-boosting, I don’t think I’ve ever been mistaken for a New Yorker or Parisienne; I think that this simply means that I seem like a better prepared tourist than others, and presumably more approachable than a native of these cities. (Although, I’ve found that the up-front-ness of New Yorkers leads to their stopping you when you look confused to tell you where you should be going – no need to ask!)

The other day a frazzled middle aged woman asked me in the grocery store where she might find salad. I directed her to the produce aisle, bless her heart. When she got there I hope she wasn’t overwhelmed by all the lettuce combo choices.

A few days ago, as I was taking a walk, a man pulled over to ask me where the men’s health clinic was. I yelled from far away (this sounds like the start of horror story, huh?) that I was sorry but have no idea. Do I really look like the kind of person who knows where the men’s health clinic is? I did notice when I got downtown the Dekalb Physician’s Center, the Emory Hope Clinic, and the county probation office … no men’s clinic.

Last week I was asked where the MARTA station is. Oh oh, I know this one now! I was headed there myself after leaving class. (This makes me happy.)

I’ve always assumed that I wear a sort of sour look on my face when I am by myself. I know that I have a tendency to talk to myself when I am alone. One would think that one would avoid a person displaying these behaviors, behaviors sometimes characteristic of a person with psychological disorders. But no, I am, apparently, quite approachable by those who are lost.

Now, who do I look to when I am completely and utterly lost? People should know that I have a terrible sense of direction.