ME: No, that’s just the start. Because then she told me to turn on West Lion Street, but there was no West Lion Street, so I kept making illegal U-turns and finally I realized that she was mispronouncing Wesley-Ann Street. Probably on purpose.
VICTOR: It’s “Wesleyan Street.” You still haven’t seen a street sign?
ME: Oh. Sorry. I kind of forgot I was driving.
VICTOR: You forgot you were driving while you were driving?
ME: It’s not like I ran into a cow. I just forgot I was looking for signs.
VICTOR: If you ever make it home I’m hiding your car keys.
ME: Anyway, then I’m all, “Okay, one of us is mispronouncing ‘Wesley-Ann’ and one of us is lost and I think they both might be me,” but that’s when I came up with what might be the greatest invention in the history of the world.
VICTOR: Street signs. Look for street signs.
ME: Haven’t seen any. Feels like I’m on a highway now. Ask me what my great idea is.
VICTOR: No.
ME: GPS for stupid people.
VICTOR: [silence]
ME: I’m totally serious. Because I’m no good with directions, but I’m really good with landmarks, so if you tell me to go north on Main, I’m fucked, but if you say, “Turn at that Burger King that burned down last year,” I totally know what to do, so we should build a GPS system that does that.
VICTOR: [sigh]
ME: And here’s the genius part: We make it able to learn so it adapts to you personally. So, like, if I say, “Huh. There’s a homeless guy masturbating,” it’ll put that in its data banks, and then when I want to go somewhere later, instead of just naming random streets it’s all, “You know where that homeless guy was masturbating? We’re going there. Turn left at that Sonic you like. Turn right at the burrito place you took Sarah to that time she was dressed all slutty. Yield at the place you gave that guy a hand job.”
VICTOR: What the fuck?
ME: Exactly. See, that’s the downfall of this system, because really I just gave a guy a hand by telling him how to get a job. But robots don’t get the subtle intricacies of human languages, so there’d be a learning curve. We’d have to put that in the brochure. Like a disclaimer.
VICTOR: How long do you have to be missing before I can start dating again?
ME: I’m just saying this robot isn’t perfected yet, dude. It’s close, though. I wouldn’t use it with your mom in the car, though, just in case. OHMYGOD, I TOTALLY KNOW WHERE I AM!
VICTOR: You’re at the place you gave that guy a hand job?
ME: No. I’m at that abandoned building that looks like it’s owned by Branch Davidians.
VICTOR: Huh. The rest of the world calls that “Dallas Street.” So can you get home now?
ME: I think so. Left at that spooky bar that looks like it’s out of Scooby-Doo, left at the place we saw that wild boar that turned out to be a dog, and right at the corner where I threw up that one time. Right?
VICTOR: You make my head hurt.
ME: DUDE, WE ARE GOING TO BE MILLIONAIRES.
EPILOGUE: I made it home.* Victor duct-taped the GPS to my windshield and refused to build me a robot. It’s like he wants us to be poor.
*DISCLAIMER: By “made it home,” I mean I got lost again and Victor had to come find me so I could follow him home. The point is, I made it home. And that I had no robot. This whole incident is kind of a tragedy. Victor says he agrees but probably not for the same reasons.
And Then I Got Stabbed in the Face by a Serial Killer
People with anxiety disorders are often labeled as “shy” or “quiet” or “that strange girl who probably buries bodies in her basement.” I’ve never actually heard anyone refer to me as the latter, but I always assume that’s what people are thinking, because that sort of paranoia is a common side effect of anxiety disorder. Personally, I always labeled myself as “socially awkward” and reassured myself that there are lots of perfectly normal people who don’t like to talk in public. And that’s true. Unfortunately it’s also true that my fear pushes slightly past the land of “perfectly normal” and lands well into the desert of “paralyzing pathological handicap.”