A little boy walks along the side of the road, he has not a care in the world. But suddenly, a foreboding Camry pulls up alongside him and slowly rolls down its window.
Normally a situation like this leads to offers of candy, followed by kidnapping and molestation.
But there'd be no molestation on that fine day, because that little boy was smart old me, and the car was not filled with ax-wielding kidnappers, but people seeking directions.
""Excuse me, do you know where the Nitty Gritty is?"" they asked me.
Because I was on the intersection of Frances and Johnson, I quickly pointed across the street to where the Gritty resided, 15 feet away.
""It's right there.""
""Ok, that's good, but do you know where the Kohl Center is?""
It seemed like they were trying to stump me with some mind-bogglingly easy trivia question, but I did not fall for their trap. I moved my still-pointed finger 41 degrees right and showed them their destination.
""It's right there ... the one with the big letters in the vague shape of saying ‘Kohl Center.'""
They thanked me for my knowledge of Madison and continued on their journey.
As they pulled away, I couldn't help but hum the theme to ""Chariots of Fire,"" in the back of my head, for I had done the impossible. No, not avoiding molestation, because I do that on a daily basis, but I actually gave people directions. Not only did I give them directions, but they were accurate ones.
Although I've now lived in Madison nearly four years, I've never gotten a hold of the directions thing. Sure, I know how to get to my classes, but in the time I've been here, I've probably had class in roughly 10 buildings.
As a result, I know how to get to Social Sciences or Chemistry without a problem. But when people ask me to get to the Edgewater restaurant or even to a place as common as the Nutri Sci building, I completely freeze up.
As a result, whenever people ask me for directions, not only do I make up the directions, I create the complete location of the place.
MapQuest might have gotten close to their destination, but KevinQuest always sends them astray.
""Pardon me, handsome individual, but do you know where X is?""
""Oh... sure!"" I say as KevinQuest kicks in, ""You just go down that way, take a that direction and a direction off that way, beyond the thing.""
""You didn't actually point anywhere. Your arms remained immobile the entire time.""
""Maybe that was just your perception.""
""No, you didn't actually move. Do you seriously know where X is, or should I ask one of any thousands of other college students?""
""NO! You just go down that way, take a that direction and direction off that way, beyond the thing."" This time I flail my arms in random, possibly contradictory directions.
Sure, my directions might send them the wrong way down a one-way street, but by the time they crashed to their horrific-yet-oddly-hilarious deaths, I'm at least 50 feet away, a far enough distance that their vengeful souls will never seek me out.
When I do actually give directions to those rare fortunate souls, it's not out of my laziness or general incompetence. It's just because I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going most of the time, and I want to share this feeling with random strangers.
Only then do they get directions. Only then do they get lost.
