Two hours. That’s how long I spent driving the same four streets in Atlanta last night. I actually drove by Turner Stadium when the Rockets were only up by one run. The game was long over before I pulled up in front of Patti C.’s house.
I knew I was headed in the right direction when I passed Druid Hills. I recognized the Starbucks. I think instead of a GPS what I need a Starbucks Directional map. They should sell dot-t0-dot maps of all the Starbucks nationwide. They could put them out on the counter along with the pink packages of rat meth and a box of crayons.
So I was headed in the right direction, but somewhere between Druid Hills and Liliburn I got lost. Totallly, helplessly lost.
Not that I haven’t been lost before. It seems to be a state-of-mind-and-body thing with me. But last night I was “Lost as an Easter Egg” as my buddy Gordon used to say.
As in the Easter Egg that doesn’t get found until the next year’s hunt.
I drove up and down Interstate 85. Turned left then right on Jimmy Carter Blvd. Past Winter Chapel Road and Peachtree Corners South. But I simply could not for the life of me find my way to the one road I needed.
I would have just called somebody and asked for directions the way I did the other night when I called Stephan. And Shelby.
Except my cell phone was dead, and the car charger is in the BMW at the Ajax parking lot in Seattle. So instead I just kept driving up and down the same four roads, for two straight hours. At 11:00 p.m. I pulled into the Burger King and ordered directions. I did have to wait in line for the guy in front of me who ordered four whoppers, hold the onions, add extra mustard, but once I got up there the fellow was very helpful and steered me in the right direction.
Two hours of life wasted, driving back and forth over Jimmy Carter.
Being lost is exhausting.
I’d much rather spent those two hours sitting on Patti’s deck watching the fireflies in the treetops, listening to the frogs argue, and smelling the sweet magnolias just blooming.