What can I say about people who, whether intentionally or otherwise, point you in the opposite direction from your intended destination?
That they are evil. Besides being inaccurate, of course. The irony is that some genuinely want to help – but fail, despite their noblest of intentions...
Could it be perhaps that bred in an urban culture that considers not offering to ‘help’ an improper and impolite mannerism, people look up and down the street, eyebrows knitted in concentration, and then point out along the road that looks fairer? You smile at them, acknowledging that they stopped whatever they were doing – driving, riding, walking, reading the newspaper, eating talking – to give you directions, and along you go...
The only hitch – they were clueless. But would sooner eat a hat than admit it that they have no idea where house number xxx on avenue 123 along street XIV was located.
Which explains why after the seventh right bend, you are where you started, or worse even further from where you wanted to be. A poultry farm stares you in the face instead of the house you had to visit. Guttural sounds of disgust do nothing to relieve your state of mind...And to think that you thought the chap knew what he was talking about.
Are we that conditioned to believe that not knowing something as trivial as a site location is a sign of inadequacy, a limiting factor, an Achilles’ Heel? Does not knowing the way to a certain locale make us insufficient and cause us to question our own competence?
Going a step further – those who create their own directions. These are a seriously malevolent one. One look at your harried face and perspiring brow – and voila! They have found a simpleton - willing victim, pardon the colloquialism – a ‘bakraa’ - for their sick humor. As soon as you push off on the deliberately-sent-upon-wrong-route, they burst into raucous guffaws, while you, all too oblivious to their perversity…till a few blocks later. By then, it’s too late – for your appointment.
As well as for you to lay your hands on the chortling scoundrel!
The only consolation – you escaped being tried for cold murder by an unsympathetic judge.
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