Under certain conditions, in certain situations, I can get lost turning around.
No joke; Bob used to lovingly tease me – and laughingly tell his buddies, “she can get lost driving in Longview.” Those quips never upset me, because there is an element of truth in that. I don’t always get lost in Longview: but, if I need to drive to an unfamiliar location, it can become a frustrating ordeal.
Anyway …
I got a message last night letting me know where to meet Egg Lady #1, for my fresh, organic dozen of eggs – it would be a meetup in a place I was not familiar with; I googled it, and was relieved to see it wouldn’t be too difficult to find. I agreed to meet her there.
This morning, while waiting for 10 AM to roll around, she sent me another message saying she couldn’t get into town until later, will I meet her later? I texted her back, saying, “A drive would be nice, can I meet you at your home address?” She agreed.
I got in my car, entered her address into the GPS … and set off.
It should have been a simple thing.
But, with faulty GPS (created and owned by the government), and vocal directions that do not give out physical landmark identification (my egg supplier); things get complicated.
I have mentioned in previous Blog posts how much I avoid freeway driving.
I was happily driving along the back road flanking the freeway, when I came to the end of Powell Drive … and the GPS said, “you have reached your destination” – and ended any further instruction!
I am literally sitting in the middle of the backroad, looking at my surroundings (road before men, and trees all around me); thinking, “this can’t be right! There is nothing here! WTHeck?”
Thinking I am supposed to go forward: I do.
And find myself looking down the hill into downtown Castle Rock.
Definitely not where I am supposed to be.
So, I nip into the catholic church parking lot, and give egg lady a jingle: “I’ve followed the GPS instructions, and am sitting in st. mary’s catholic church parking lot; where exactly are you located?”
She asks me if I passed the McDonald’s, and the ‘T’ junction … I tell her I did not see either a McDonald’s, or a road ‘T’ junction. When did Castle Rock get a McDonald’s? How could I have missed a road junction? I’m an observant driver. I am not a stupid woman: I know what the golden arches look like – I know what a ‘T’ road junction looks like. I am mystified.
So, I pull out of the parking lot and do what she told me to do: turn left at the first road I see.
Following the road out, I still do not see a McDonald’s.
There was no ‘T’ junction, either.
So, when I come to the overhead traffic lights, I think, “Well, maybe I haven’t gone far enough, yet” … and I cross onto the next road. By the time I reach Steelhead Drive, by the green steel bridge, I am pretty confident this is another wild goose chase. I give her another call, laughingly asking her again where exactly she lives, and how do I get there.
She was mystified.
I was mystified by the directions she was giving me.
She was sorry I am lost (I was not truly lost – I knew those roads: I did not know what she is talking about with her directions). She says, “Well, at least your laughing; you don’t seem to be upset.” I assured her that I was not upset, and that one has to laugh through life because life can’t be taken seriously all the time; I just didn’t understand what she is describing to me, because there is nothing at all like that on that road.
I backtrack – with phone in hand, and covo open on both ends: keeping my eyes peeled for the elusive McDonald’s she keeps telling me about. I see the gas stations … I see the restaurants … I see Burger King … BINGO! I see the little golden arches sign hidden in the tall weeds – my eyes start panning the area; and driving back across the main highway, I SEE McDonalds: very small, and very blended into the Shell gas station mini mart it is attached to. EASY TO MISS.
We both laughed, and ended the convo.
I drive on, and I still manage to miss her driveway – there is simply no road … on this road, with the name she gave me.
The convo is re-engaged. But she keeps giving me directions that have no bearing on the surroundings. Mentally racking my brain to envision what I need to understand, I say, “Okay: you are giving me directions coming off the freeway, right? So, that means your lefts would be my rights … so, let me turn this car around and try to find you that way. From what I understand, I need to drive back to Powell Road – that’s the only road that even remotely resembles a ‘T’ junction. Let’s give that a try, shall we?”
I’m still laughing at the silliness of the moment.
As I reach the end of the road and turn towards the tail end of Powell – I SEE THE SIGN I missed earlier (hidden in low lying evergreen tree limbs). I was looking for a green road sign, and it was a small white private road sign (something she failed to mention!).
And it is exactly kitty-corner off the tail end of Powell.
I tell her I finally see the sign.
We both laughed.
GPS was kinda-sorta right: I had “arrived” as it stated earlier, but because the white sign was not clearly visible, and the driveway is uphill … I drove right past it, in mystified confusion.
Anyway …
So, uphill I drive, turning left onto the first driveway I see – and I say to her, “I don’t know what is going on: I am now at the entrance to a junk yard.” She excitedly says, “Yes! You came to the right place … just follow the road to the end.”
Connection is severed.
I stare at the muddy driveway, the jumbled junk cars, the seriously crowded goat-trail-roadway, and pray to God I do not scratch my car – or puncture tires. There is a set of two skinny, sharp looking speed bump guard rails across the muddy drive; spaced about 6 feet apart along the junk yard roadway.
I’d been in junk yards before; I’d often gone with Bob when he was looking for a specific truck part. But I, personally, have never navigated one in a vehicle.
I managed to make it unscathed, to the house at the end of the muddy goat trail; that ran between rows of jumbled abandoned vehicles of every shape, size, and make.
I gave her the $$; she gave me the eggs.
I backed out and was on my way … when her husband came barreling down the muddy strip, forcing me to quickly squeeze my car into place behind one of the haphazardly placed junk cars. He breezed by, looking peeved that he had to inch his way past me. Tough cookies! He could have waited for me to exit the muddy obstacle course – it wouldn’t have been more than a few seconds: he was the eager beaver, speeding through the mud.
I felt like saluting him in universal language (I was no longer laughing).
And when I could finally exit the messy driveway, I decided to check my tires when I parked under the carport at home (so far, they seem fine).
And I also decided I wouldn’t be going back: I do like Americana eggs, but I do not like that muddy, treacherous driveway … or her jerk husband.
Egg Lady #2 gets my business next time.
Even though I do enjoy adventurous drives, and I am needing to learn my way around the local roadways; I hope I do not have to drive through a muddy obstacle course to retrieve them 😉
I am thankful tonight is Shabbat: a goblet of wine is most welcome!
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