There has been one moment of drama in my journey this week. In a certain state along the way, I saw a sign for Route Eleventy-Four East. Surely, I thought, the Eleventy-Four West exit will be next. But minutes and then miles went by and I feared I had missed it altogether and decided to get off the road and find a place to re-group, perhaps ask for directions and definitely find a restroom, for in my mother’s immortal words, “Always go when you have the chance.”
I found, after an excursion of a mile or so, a gas station with a convenience store, and I went inside. I saw two men at the counter, paying for coffee. One wore a work belt and the other appeared to be the driver of a car dealership’s van, parked right out front. They looked sufficiently local, and I asked, “What is the best way to Eleventy-Four West?”
They both began speaking at once, which will no doubt lead to some conclusions on your parts, dear readers, about where I was traveling. One said, “Turn right here and go to the next light.” And the other said, “No, go to the left and down to the third traffic light.” And the first said, “Well, if she’s going that way, it’s four lights.” “No it’s not!” “I drive around here for a living. What? Do you think I’m stupid because I’m Polish?!?!?!!!”
Girls! Girls! You’re both pretty!!
“Thank you very much,” I said, “I think I understand now.”
I waited until they both left. Then I asked the man at the counter, “Do you have area maps for sale?”
(P.S. Eleventy-Four West was another ten miles down the road. Apparently there is some sort of spur/shortcut to get you to Eleventy-Four East if you are headed to Great Big City. This would explain how Pure Luck and I got off-track in the same area last year, leading to an argu–well, let’s just say a heated discussion of our own. And wasn’t that the same evening some woman was hitting on him when we were checking into a hotel? Never mind about that.)