When you absolutely, positively don’t need to be there
BURTON W. COLE, EDITOR
By Burton W. Cole
One of the surest ways to tell how rotten your out-of-state friends are at geography is to announce that you are going on a road trip.
“Hey, you need to stop in on your way by,” a geographically challenged buddy inevitably chimes in.
“It’s, uh, not on the way. You’re 600 miles out of the way.”
“You’re going south, aren’t you? We’re south of you.”
“Have you never been introduced to a thing called a map. My destination clearly is southEAST — mostly east. You are unequivocally southWEST of me — mostly west. You are hours out of my way.”
“Not if you take the shortcut.”
There’s the other annoyance of geographically challenged experts of routes — they are compelled to bluster some kind of so-called shortcut, even if they have never, ever set wheels anywhere close to the region you intend to travel. They just KNOW it.
It has been my experience that every shortcut I’ve ever taken on the advice of someone who KNOWS has added a minimum of 15 minutes to two hours to my trip. I could end up on the road three extra days, muttering a famous line from Bugs Bunny cartoons: “I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque.”
One of my buddies is so chock full of shortcuts that I wouldn’t announce that I was stepping outside to get the mail. From the mailbox. At the end of the driveway. Even though It’s a matter of 20 or 25 paces in a straight line, he KNOWS a shortcut. He can’t help himself.
As one of my hyper-confident pals says, “I may be wrong, but I’m never in doubt.”
He just absolutely, positively, unquestionably KNOWS. Because he’s an expert on anything.
I know a faster way, too, but I don’t own a helicopter. I’m driving a car. A tired car, which, like me, has racked up a lot of hard miles.
When I moved 500 miles away but would drive home for a visit, a whole chorus — orchestra, too — of friends would holler, “Hey, since you’re in the neighborhood, you need to pop over for a visit.”
No. No, I don’t. My old, tired self already chugged 500 miles in my old, tired car. And they day after tomorrow, the old and tired two of us have another 500 miles to return.
If you want to see me, how about YOU toddle out to your own car and putter the 12 miles here where I’m staying. Or walk. I don’t care. But I’m done driving. I made it this far; it’s your turn.
Isn’t it odd how your geographically challenged friends believe that the road from their place to yours is so, so much farther than it is from your place to theirs, so you should do the driving, not them?
On the other hand, maybe it is easier if you do the driving. You never, ever want to ride with one of these friends if you must be somewhere by a certain time.
These are the geographically challenged friends who turn on the car GPS just so they can argue with The Lady. He will laugh at every one of the GPS Lady’s directions: “Ha! She wants me to take Route 34. I happen to know that if I swing around and pick up 137, we’ll shave 10 minutes off the drive. Watch this.”
The GPS Lady squawks. I squeal. But Mr. I-Know-A-Shortcut ignores both of us and zips right on past Route 34.
Three hours later, he’s scratching his head, which is swiveling from one window to the other. “Well, I’ll be. Route 137 is around here somewhere. I’m sure of it. What time is your appointment?
“Two-and-a-half hours ago. The office was a mile up 137. It’s OK. Chances are it’s not a fatal condition. Let’s just go home.”
“Don’t you worry. I know another shortcut. Why’s that sign say, ‘Welcome to Albuquerque?’”
“I know this one. You definitely should take a left turn. A geographically challenged rabbit said so.”
Ol’ King Cole is a grumpy old soul who no longer finds driving a thrill. Turn left with him at burton.w.cole@gmail.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.