On Getting Lost

The day we drove to get my loaner car* from Ruth and Bob, my father would not let me stop at Starbucks stating, “No need to complicate driving with Coffee.” Granted I had not driven a car in years. Also, my parents moved in 2005 and I do not know the town very well. All that coupled with my history of getting lost he may have had a point.


For a brief period I had a car while I lived in Chicago and you could bet money I would get lost if I ventured to the suburbs. In fact, once my sister and I were driving to sell my car in Joliet. The plan was simple; we would drop the car off and take the Metra home. I had taken in the 1988 Gold Honda Accord to have something done  and the person buying the car told me not to pay to have the thingy** that secures the hood fixed as he could do that himself. . While we are en route on The Stevenson the hood flies into the windshield. Bam!  I pull over and phone my boss.


“How do you get to Joliet of the back roads?”


“Why?”


“My hood just flew into my windshield on the highway.”


“How about I give you the directions to get to my house on the back roads and we will have my husband look at the car.”


Her husband is a semi-retired theater producer and set designer and the master of gerry rigging things and his garage houses all the supplies to do so.


We enter their house, immediately greeted by Pasta. They are Italian and if you enter their house you must eat. Meanwhile her husband finds some cord used on Airplanes and ties the hood down. We are off to Joliet***.


With no illusions of having an internal compass, I am armed with the directions from Mapquest.


Two hours later, driving lost in the rain; I swear I will never use Mapquest again.


We finally drop the car off; however, we missed the last train back to the city. Oh, now would be a good time to mention that my sister and I have a 10:00 AM flight to New York tomorrow. Staying in Joliet is not an option.


Wait, I have a brilliant idea!  Go to the Casino surely they have a shuttle bus back to the city. We enter the Riverboat and head straight to the concierge.


“Do you have a shuttle back to the city?” I ask.


She directs me, in as many words, to the Red Phone, which is a direct line to Joliet Taxi. I am informed that  the flat rate to get back to the city is $100.00. I whip out my cell and call my boss again.


“We are trapped at the Joliet Casino.”


“How did you end up there?”


I briefly retell the events since I had left her house 3 hours ago.


“Well, you have to get home. You cannot miss your flight tomorrow.”


“I know.”


She turns and bats her eyes to husband who agrees to drive from his house to pick us up at the Joliet Casino then drive us back to the city. We got home at 12:30.


A word about the people who patronize said establishment late Thursday nights. We saw one man with a disheveled mullet wearing a wife beater heading like a zombie through the doors. We joked that he woke up, realized his direct deposit was in his account and thought, “Gamble. I must gamble now.”


That said I understand my parents hesitation about me driving. In fact, if I open my trunk I double-check the latch to avoid any variation of a repeat on US 31. Google Maps is my friend.


When my parents take me on the back roads—surface streets—it often involves a quiz on which way to turn to get home. I wish they had been this concerned about my absolute lack of direction when I was in Mr. Bee’s Drivers Ed Class.


I did get lost coming back from the Dermatologist last week. Embarrassingly, I have been to that office 3 times. I have been taking Sternberg (the main street which 1.5 miles away from the condo offers every shopping option one could dream of in the sleepy berg of Muskegon County) to almost everything. Emboldened in my new comfort level with driving I thought I would take Mt. Garfield home. I turned left out of the doctors’ office and then left on what I thought was Mt. Garfield. When I drove past one of the elementary Schools I knew something was wrong. Eventually I hit Downtown Fruitport and found my way back to Sternberg. On the plus side, I now know how to get Downtown ****


*A 1999 Red Ford Escort.
** A technical term.
***A town best know for having a Casino and Prison.
***Should I ever have an intense craving for Burger Crest I am able to fulfill it.  Did I mention that Fruitport is right next to Ferrysberg?