The Sinking-gut Shame of Giving Wrong Directions

A car pulled up and stopped beside me and a fella stood up out of the driver’s door.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the Sound Bar.”

“The what?”

“The Sound Bar.”

“Never heard of it. What’s the address?”

“414 3rd Avenue.” He pointed behind him—“And that’s 3rd Avenue right there. I can’t find the Sound Bar.”

“No, sir. That’s 3rd Street. It’s different.”

I should have stopped right there. But I continued, trying to help this wayfaring barhopper: “This is first, so 3rd’s gonna be a couple blocks that way, then go up to 4th Street, and you should be good.” I thumbed east and then north.

“Alright, thanks.” And he was off. He hadn’t reached the corner yet when I realized I’d misled him. There are two 3rd Avenues, see? And they’re both a couple blocks from here. What makes the difference is whether it’s 3rd Avenue North or South. But you know what? They’re east and west from each other.

It’s very confusing; You could hardly be blamed. That’s what I’d have told someone else who made my mistake. It’s not what I told me, though.

For several blocks, especially as I walked down the correct 3rd Avenue, where he meant to be, I felt very low about misguiding him. I mean, I’m from this town and I have a pretty good sense of direction—what happened. Embarrassing.

What a jerk I was. That guy must hate me, driving around downtown in an olio of streets and avenues, 3rds and 3rds and more 3rds. I’d hate me, too. I continued insulting myself for some distance—deprecation after deprecation. I got very creative.

By Nicollet and Franklin, I’m happy to say that I’d forgotten about it. I know this because I remember remembering it right about then. So that must mean I’d forgotten it awhile before. That’s nice for me, I suppose.

And I guess it’s all for the best. I’ve come to discover the Sound Bar is another downtown, waste-of-time swank-fest, in the category with clubs that have names like Envy or Aqua or Karma or Infinity or Drink or Spill.

Now if he’d asked me how to get to Tracy’s or Bullwinkle’s or Merlin’s or even Lyle’s, then he’d have been in luck. These are all fine establishments set squarely on streets with names not numbers, solid names like Franklin and Washington, etc.

But, no, he’s going to the Sound Bar. Why? I have no idea.

Oh, wait…He’s not going there. Thanks to me.