Turn Left and Right

I am terrible with directions. In Kansas City--where I grew up-- no matter how many times my dad told me how to get to the airport, I could never make it work on the first try. Once, I called him en route and asked him for help.

"Where are you," he asked.

"I don't know," I answered.

"What street are you on?" he asked.

I told him.

"Okay, what direction are you facing?"

"I don't know," I answered.

Eventually, my dad was able to remotely steer me back on track without much help from me.

One good thing about my lack of directional awareness is that it allows me to be--for the most part--understanding when others get lost. When I arrived in Oklahoma City late Thursday night, my brother Brandon, his girlfriend Lindsay and our best friend Zac picked me up at the airport. Lindsay, who had only been living in the city for a couple of months, was driving. As we headed toward downtown, we made quite a few wrong turns. This was mostly because, while we were all laughing and catching up and singing "Cooler than Me" at the top of our lungs, Brandon and Lindsay's British-sounding GPS did not agree with each other and offered conflicting directions.

"Turn right," the female voice instructed in a haughty English accent.

"Turn left," Brandon said.

In a few minutes, we were on a highway headed in the wrong direction.* Brandon, Zac and I turned around to watch the downtown skyline receding in the distance. Then we turned right back around and started talking and laughing and singing again.

In the end, of course, we made it to our destination where Lindsay, without direction or instruction, backed expertly into a parallel spot.

*While trying to find our way, we came across the above signage. Zac took a quick picture to memorialize it for us all.