So. . . do you know where we’re going?

I’m not like some men of cliche. I don’t absolutely refuse to ask for directions. Sometimes I ask for directions even when I am pretty sure I know.

Today I needed to take someone to an airport I’d never been to before. This was not planned; that is, I was asked the night before but it wasn’t in the original travel plans. I mean to ask the secretary for directions but I forgot to do it when I asked her for the key.

So we are well on the way to the airport and I say, “You know where it is, right?”

And he says, “This is my first time here, I was headed the other direction!”

Okay, so I get out my phone and start calling people back at the office. Nobody answers. Ladies and gentlemen, you may now panic.

I had fully expected to see signs for the airport, since it is associated with a small city that does not have much else to brag about. But then I started to see signs for the next city down the road, and nary a sign for the airport.

We had actually pulled over to the side of the road, tried to call some more people, and turned around when we saw the first airport sign. We had not yet gone far enough. I usually panic about my navigtional directions too soon–I think I have missed a turn when I haven’t. As we went along the signs for the aiport did appear. In fact I have driven past this airport before (although not often).

I am 95% confident he got to his flight in time, although I actually didn’t get his cell number so I couldn’t check, but I think he had to skip the lunch he planned to get at the airport. No real disaster. But embarassing.

Yes. Embarassing.