I don't have a problem asking for directions; it's remembering directions that's the problem.
by Bill Mehlman
A guy gets lost in rural New Hampshire. He's driving around, making random turns, hoping to find someone who can give him directions. Finally he notices a farmer sitting on the top rail of a fence, watching his sheep, and the driver stops.
"Pardon me, can you tell me where North Xenophobia Crossing is?"
"Would you mind telling me where North Xenophobia Crossing is?"
"Nope. It's a skootch more than two c's down the road."
"It's a skootch more than two c's down the road."
"OK. I give up. What do you mean, two c's down the road'?"
"Not too bright, are you, Sonny? Well, you go back to that fancy little car of yours, and get in, and look down the road. When you get to what you saw, that's one see. Then you look down the road as far as you can again, and when you get there, that's two sees. Then make a left and you'll run right into it."
There are a lot of old gags like this about guys getting lost. And it's part of the lore of the male animal that we get lost because we're either too dumb or two proud to ask for directions. It's like we see ourselves as the spiritual heirs of Natty Bumpo or Marco Polo. But that's only half the problem.
Once you've given in and gotten the directions, how likely is it that you'll remember anything after the first landmark? Or if you've downloaded a route from Google Maps, what are the odds you won't leave it in the printer?