if you get lost more than I do, you deserve an award

Let’s talk about what a terrible driver I am.

Actually, my navigational skills are the real catastrophe. Poor driving usually ensues because I’m too busy wondering where I should be going to concentrate on the task at hand. So let’s talk about me getting lost and how it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault the same way it’s not roomie’s fault she’s practically a midget.

I’m only allowed so much navigational success in one day, and I used up all mine trying to get to the bar after CrossFit last night. I was meeting some friends (actually one friend and a bunch of her friends, but I sound cooler if it seems like I have multiple friends) for Monday night trivia at a bar near the box. Again, we have me doing social things after working out and not showering; it’s amazing I have any friends at all. Anyway, I only knew the name of said bar, not the location. I was thinking I could look it up, but I spent too long shopping at Costco and very nearly didn’t make it to the WOD at all. (See what happens to my scheduling ability when I don’t have work to keep me straight?)

My GPS had never heard of the place and I couldn’t look it up on my dumbphone, so I resorted to quizzing the other people at the WOD to get directions. I was relieved to find out that the bar happened to be on the same road as my office, which is probably the only reason directions were of any use to me.

And, folks, I made it there like I totally knew where I was going. There was no driving past it, and no U turns, and no having to call people and asking them to repeat directions or give me landmarks. I felt like I was Harry Potter and had just found my way through the maze in the Tri Wizard Tournament.

It was wonderful.

Trivial was also wonderful, and nobody seemed to think I smelled too bad. I meant to leave early since I had a bit of a drive home and still had some stuff to do, but then I was sucked into a conversation about kettle bell swinging and got a free beer from the old lady at the next table over (I don’t know how this happened either, so just go with it). So I ended up leaving a little later. Okay, no problem. I’ll still be home by 10:30.

Until I miss my exit on the highway. I was singing along so enthusiastically to my musical soundtrack that it took me a couple of miles to notice. No worries though, I could just whip out my trusty GPS and only add 10 extra minutes to my drive home. But once it had taken me off the highway on some mysterious exit I decided to take matters into my own hands for some strange reason.

In case you were wondering, if you get off the highway and do a U turn and get back on the highway, you will be going in the SAME direction as you were before. Not the other direction. Anything your brain might be telling you to the contrary is simply a combination of tiredness and beer. Not to be trusted.

Now I had gotten all the way into the city and my GPS, probably acting in self preservation, decided that we had to get off the highway altogether and take some other road home. Which was fine, until I realized that it meant we would have to sit through the five-minute-long red light at the intersection of death. Ugh. (See how my GPS is somehow becoming a person in this story? That’s how helpless I am without it.) But it couldn’t be helped. So while I was spending half my life waiting for the light to change, I decided I needed to go get some gas at Costco before going to work tomorrow. I was being so on top of things doing this the night BEFORE instead of tomorrow morning.

And friends, another public service announcement: when Costco closes at nine, so does their gas station. Duh. What kind of idiot wouldn’t know that?

Great. Turn around after that little detour and go home.

But no. The fun isn’t over yet! The universe was apparently pretty pissed that I’d lucked out and gotten to the bar so easily, because I drove past MY OWN STREET. I immediately pulled into an empty lot to assess the situation. Could I turn around? No. There was a median in the middle of the road. My only choice was to keep going and drive to the end of the road to turn around, which meant I would have to spend ANOTHER five years waiting for the light to change at the intersection of death.

It was 11:10 when I got home.

I had 17 miles left in my gas tank.

It’s not my fault, I tell you. Nobody could possibly mess up a drive they do every day of the week as much as all that without some extra help. I think there was a wrackspurt in my car.


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