Daddy Can Give Directions Like a Motherfucker
Sometimes, people on the street who are lost will walk up to me and ask me for directions. I fucking love it when this happens, because it means that random strangers can just look at me and assume two things:
1. I know geography.
2. I do not look like the kind of person who will gag and rape them.
When you generate that sort of confidence from people you don't even know, you’ve got the Game of Life already won, my friends. Anyway, a woman (more a damsel, actually) this morning asked me for directions to the North Bethesda Marriott, and I came through like a fucking champ. I immediately puffed out my chest and began to barrage her with knowledge:
“Which way are you headed? No, no, no. That’s the wrong way…”
See what I did there? With one swift stroke, I have managed to establish her as completely helpless, and establish myself as the only possible person that can guide her in the right direction. An Oracle, if you will. God damn it, I’m good.
“You want to go back TOWARDS the Beltway…”
That’s right, little sweetheart. You thought it might be further up the road, but I changed the whole game on you! You gotta go back where you were! I got more twists than M. Night Shayamalan, bitch!
“…And then you’re gonna see a sign that says White Flint Mall…”
Landmarks. People fucking love landmarks. “Oh my God, this road is so confusing, with all its crazy lanes and intersections! If only there were a beacon to signify my progress! A mall! He hath given me a mall! Praise to He!!!!”
“…and then you turn at Marinelli, and it’s right there. And that’s it.”
See how easy I make it sound? The key here is, “That’s it.” By saying that, I make the task of finding her destination far less intimidating. I make it all look so easy, not unlike a Michael Jordan, or a Tiger Woods, or a Josef Stalin. I’m definitely in that stratosphere.
Because giving directions isn’t a chance to help people. It’s a chance to impress them. And I deliver the goods. Every time. MapQuest can suck my enormous balls.
1. I know geography.
2. I do not look like the kind of person who will gag and rape them.
When you generate that sort of confidence from people you don't even know, you’ve got the Game of Life already won, my friends. Anyway, a woman (more a damsel, actually) this morning asked me for directions to the North Bethesda Marriott, and I came through like a fucking champ. I immediately puffed out my chest and began to barrage her with knowledge:
“Which way are you headed? No, no, no. That’s the wrong way…”
See what I did there? With one swift stroke, I have managed to establish her as completely helpless, and establish myself as the only possible person that can guide her in the right direction. An Oracle, if you will. God damn it, I’m good.
“You want to go back TOWARDS the Beltway…”
That’s right, little sweetheart. You thought it might be further up the road, but I changed the whole game on you! You gotta go back where you were! I got more twists than M. Night Shayamalan, bitch!
“…And then you’re gonna see a sign that says White Flint Mall…”
Landmarks. People fucking love landmarks. “Oh my God, this road is so confusing, with all its crazy lanes and intersections! If only there were a beacon to signify my progress! A mall! He hath given me a mall! Praise to He!!!!”
“…and then you turn at Marinelli, and it’s right there. And that’s it.”
See how easy I make it sound? The key here is, “That’s it.” By saying that, I make the task of finding her destination far less intimidating. I make it all look so easy, not unlike a Michael Jordan, or a Tiger Woods, or a Josef Stalin. I’m definitely in that stratosphere.
Because giving directions isn’t a chance to help people. It’s a chance to impress them. And I deliver the goods. Every time. MapQuest can suck my enormous balls.
posted by Big Daddy Drew at 11:15 AM
8 Comments:
Interesting....
:-/
Ah, the great art of giving directions. You are definitely good. Landmarks are the biggest key!
I had an interesting one of those moments on Patriot's Day this year. That's Marathon Monday, if you will. It's also start drinking at 11am because the Sox game is on. And it is also get the F away from the marathon because it runs in front of my Fn condo day!
So I'm at the bar. Ah.
To be specific, I am drunk at the bar. Ahhh...
And I am standing outside having a cigarette. A random minivan stops across the street and yells out: "Hey! How do we get to heartbreak hil?"
Of course, the first thing that jumps into my head is that these two have decided to ask a random dude standing in front of a bar at 1pm having a cigarette about the location of a marathon landmark.
Luckily, they got me!
Of course, I was panting after jogging across the street to talk to them, but hey!
I gave them one of my trademarks: count the traffic lights. Not just "At the third light". You have to count it out:" Go to the 1, 2, 3, third traffic light and take a left." I also give the landmark: "There'll be a coffee shop, bank, and flower shop..."
The conuting shows them that you can visualize it. You've driven that road before.
It is an art, Drew. Glad to know you feel the same...
Folks will ask me for directions, and when I tell them I don't know they look at me like I'm lying.
And I hate when people give me directions and tell me all the short cuts and backroads.
JUST TELL ME IN ENGLISH!! "Take Route 1 to exit 2 and then it's 3 miles on your left"
NOT: Take a left by the Johnson Farm on the old back road, take a left by the big tree...but not the huge tree blahblahblahblah...
You definately are The Stalin, you sassy motherfucker you!
I say I don't know even if I do - I have a way of sending folks up one-way streets by accident, since I don't drive and there's no such thing as a one-way on foot.
However, congratulations on not looking like someone who gags and rapes for fun. This means you've officially succeeded at life!
Beautiful.
But perhaps SHE was only asking you for directions because she suspected you had enormous balls.
Never underestimate a damsal
Isn't it funny how comment barrages come about? All it takes is one or two courageous souls...
I still have Alabama plates on my truck and people still pull up next to me at stoplights and ask me for directions...in Dallas. They deserve the directions I give them to Hooters. (It's the only place I can get to from virtually anywhere.)
During the 2005 Super Bowl I intentionally gave Mike Greenburg and Mike Golic bad directions to a steakhouse.
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