TAKING DIRECTIONS

Everyone knows the, what now has become cliche, sort of inside joke about men refusing to ask for directions while driving, especially if there is a female in the vehicle.

It doesn't matter if the car is running on fumes and we've seen the same exit and convenience store sign for the umpteenth time, it's doubtful that we'll give in and stop at the 7-11 to ask for directions.

People, or more specifically women, tend to believe what seems to be the obvious: that by asking for directions out of BFE, we will be forced to swallow our pride, a symbolical way of throwing in the towel, giving up, losing, biting the big one.

Guess what? It's not that at all. The problem is interpreting instructions. We're dying to stop and ask for directions, believe me, but we know that 99.9% of the time, the person standing behind that counter isn't qualified to give such advice. When we come out of there and get back into the vehicle we won't have any better ideas than before.

And therein lies the problem: it looks like we can't understand directions, that we fail to communicate. How couldn't we understand what was just parlayed? How dare we question the advice of a local cashier or gas station attendant? Aren't we capable of being told what to do and then following through?

No, and it's embarrassing, and completely not our fault.

Here's why:

INT. SEVEN-ELEVEN - DAY

Brian walks out of the "middle of nowhere" through the door, passing the black and white sticker on the frame. It marks the height of perps for the store security cam.

BRIAN (V.O.)
Geez that always gives me the chills!

A GOOD OLD BOY is behind the counter, conversing with GOOD BUDDY, who just purchased gas.

GOOD OLD BOY
(frustrated)
A twelve point buck, and she won't let me hang it over the bed!

GOOD BUDDY
(irritating laugh)
Hee, hee.. hee hee hee..

Brian goes to display rack, feigns as if he is looking for a bag of chips.

MOMENTS LATER:
Good Buddy exits, Good Old Boy watches Brian.

GOOD OLD BOY
Sir? Can I help you find something?

Brian turns, approaches the counter.

BRIAN
(hoping)
Yes actually, I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to Atlanta from here.

GOOD OLD BOY
(delighted to share)
Oh, sure thing: pull out here and take a right at the intersection, not the first, but the one after, that will put you on sixty-two.

BRIAN
(unsure)
Okay, a right.

GOOD OLD BOY
Follow that until you get to Quagmire, you'll see the courthouse there, then take a left on ninety-five.

Brian nods, as if he is following this.

GOOD OLD BOY
(speaking quickly now)
Off ninety-five, go to forty-two, or Bellows Creek Road, same name, then up to sixty-five, if you miss that there's an exit two miles up, at eighteen, but that's taking the backroads. Got it?

BRIAN
(lost in space)
I think so, thank you very much!

Brian walks out of the store, hides on the side of the building, smokes a cig, shakes his head.

He spies a billboard: "Atlanta Outlet Mall", reads the bottom : "twenty miles ahead".

BRIAN
(to himself)
Worth a shot.

INT. VAN - DAY
Brian gets in, turns the ignition.

LOVELY WIFE
All set?

BRIAN
Yep. Say, want to check out an outlet mall along the way?

LOVELY WIFE
(intrigued)
Hmm, always could do some shopping!

FADE OUT