August 28, 2012

My husband, Graeme, and I share a joke about my navigational skills.  When I'm in urgent need of directions, let's say to the south side of Edmonton, or anywhere outside of my brain map comfort zone I simply call G-quest. A quick call usually solves it all and as of yet has not netted me a big fat $172 ticket http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/edmonton/story/2011/08/31/edmonton-distracted-driving-legislation.html for talking while driving (more on that in a later post.)

Why does this matter?  No phone equals no directions. A terrifying prospect for this country mouse turned city mouse. (Did I mention I have an aversion to reading a map.)

For example, during a recent foray into the traffic of north Edmonton big box hell I was completely and utterly lost. I'd driven into the urban jungle on a mission for a small rodent like toy creature my daughter adores. Driving around aimlessly and saying I couldn't find the store wasn't an option.

Out loud with daughter listening I say "hot damn, I'm really lost."

A moment passes and a small, eager voice pipes up, "Mum, just ask someone."

Oh dear.  Of course.  Cell phone dependency check one.


Thankfully, I've inherited my mother's gift of the gab and will seize upon just about anyone for directions, the time, or just to have a chat. I relish the chance of talking to a stranger, squeezing out small tidbits of their life. Chance encounters can be wonderfully illuminating experiences.


Where has this side of me gone?  With phone in hand I never asked for directions.  G-quest was my ally, google maps my guiding light, safari my navigator wherever I went.  Forget the lowly human on the street. Until now.

We weave through traffic to Toys R Us. I implore a cashier for directions. She seems confused by my request. No matter, with a smile and a nod I'm northbound, eyes open for a large mall on the left side of the road.

I can do it.  Already, I'm gloating in my head and anticipating recounting my navigational prowess over dinner later that day.

And then I drive, and drive and drive, until I can't drive anymore.  The gas gauge seems to have slipped down a notch. My son is crying, Ella announces "Mum you're lost" and I pull into an apartment complex defeated.

I have no choice, I turn around, returning the way I came.  I drive slower, concentrating, thinking. I approach a crosswalk, slowing to allow pedestrians to cross, yelling at one of them, any of them, please, please, look this way. A man stops, he's a firefighter.  No I'm not in trouble, I tell him, I just need directions.  He obliges with a smile.

I'm smiling too. A little human contact in silent suburbia. And bang on directions.