Whenever I go to visit my parents, I end up being the one to drive everywhere during my visit despite the fact that they live in a completely different city than the one I grew up in and therefore have no idea where I'm going.
This would be fine if my parents had maps. Or senses of direction. Or sanity.
Take something simple, like going out to eat. Despite all my begging, my parents will never tell me the name of the restaurant we're going to and seem baffled when I tell them I want the name so that I can Google Map it.
"But sweetheart," says my mother, "it's just up the street and we'll tell you how to get there."
Even when I ask nicely, they don't seem to understand the question, "What's the name of the restaurant?"
"What does it matter?" my father asks. "It's just down the road."
When I say, "Pretty, pretty please, I am begging you in the name of all that is holy to tell me the name and/or street address of the restaurant to which we are going," they look at me with bemused expressions and I can see that they're becoming concerned for my sanity. For good reason. Here's how a typical trip with my parents goes.
Me: Left, right, or straight here?
Mom: We're going left.
Me: [gets into the left lane, waits for the light, turns left]
Mom: You should have gone straight ahead, we're going to to have to turn around.
Me: You said left!
Mom: Well, I didn't mean right away.
and then, later
Dad: Hey, can you turn left here?
Me: No.
Dad: Why not?
Me: I'm in the far right lane.
Dad: Oh.
Me: [after a few minutes of silence] Was that a rhetorical question about turning left or did we actually
need to go left back there?
Mom: We needed to go left.
Me: Okay. Next time, I'm getting a map.
Mom: Why would you need a map? Your dad and I know exactly where we're going.
Me: [muttering] Not that you bother to tell me...
Mom: What?
Me: Nothing. Okay, after I turn around, where do I go?
Mom: To the restaurant.
Me: Which restaurant?
Mom: The one we're going to.
Me: ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?
[silence, then] Mom: I don't know why you have to get so angry all the time.
Me: What. Is the name. Of the restaurant.
Mom: It's just up here a ways on the left.
Dad: The right.
Mom: The right.
Me: THE NAME! TELL ME THE GOD DAMN NAME OF THE RESTAURANT!
Dad: The Stadium.
Me: Thank you.
Mom: You just passed it. It was on the left.
This is inevitably the time during the drive when I threaten to crash the car and kill all three of us for the good of the world.
My family has always been like this with directions, which might be the reason I'm obsessed with maps and detailed directions to wherever I'm going. This might also be the reason that Hattie and I should not take road trips together, because when I'm driving and ask Hattie if we need to take I-5 North or I-5 South and she shrugs and replies, "Whatever, we'll get there no matter which way we go," I fly into a rage blackout.
I'm pretty sure I once threatened to rip out her pancreas and make her eat it while on a road trip in Los Angeles. In my defense, Hattie's theory that if you just keep driving eventually you'll find what you're looking for doesn't apply when you're driving in a city with an area of roughly 20,000 square miles. Also in my defense, she had shared her "we'll get there eventually" theory with me just moments before we saw signs welcoming us to Compton.
I realize that I am insane when it comes to directions, and I realize that I become verbally abusive if my navigator lets me down. However, when people do things my way, we arrive where we need to be safely, efficiently, and on time. If you ever find yourself in a car with me and have somehow become my navigator, avoiding my rage is simple; keep your eye on exit and road signs and read the directions that I have written out in my very neatest handwriting complete with mileage estimates, exit numbers, and alternate routes that may become necessary in case of construction, traffic, or nuclear war. That's it. Do these simple things and your pancreas will remain in your body where it belongs.
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