“You have no sense of direction.” Those are my wife’s words talking about me. She’s probably right, though I grew up thinking the opposite.
There have been two times I’ve had to overcome that genetic blindspot. Both have to do with Stef and one happened about 10 minutes ago.
She’s on her way back having visited college friends from Long Island. She heard construction was causing problems getting to the Throgs Neck Bridge. Would I help her with a detour?
Though I left Queens the very first day I owned a car, I still know my way around. There really haven’t been too many new highways built there in the last forty years.
All was going well until Stef blurted, “Oh shit.” That’s never good.
She’d found her way to a lane which forced her to exit toward the Whitestone Bridge. Whatever traffic problems the Throgs Neck has the Whitestone has more–by far.
“I’ve gone 2/10 mile in 20 minutes,” Stef said when, in frustration, she called me back.
Like an air traffic controller guiding an errant Cessna that mistakenly made it to the wrong airspace I started moving Stef in a large circular path back toward the Throgs Neck.
At times like this her GPS system is an impediment. Stef told me where she was, heard my words and followed the GPS. It had no idea how bad the Whitestone was. It only knew that was currently the shortest route. The last thing I needed was directions competition!
“Turn the damned thing off,” I barked.
Stef sped through Northern Queens, finally getting off the highway and heading through a residential area and finally onto the northbound Clearview Expressway.
“You’re Father-of-the-Year,” she said.
“Just don’t get a ticket,” I replied.