I can count the number of times Tim and I have gotten lost on one fifteen hands. It’s pretty much every time we go somewhere.
Sometimes, it’s not even lost. It’s just stupidity.
Like, the one time we decided to go on a “run” on a paved nature trail (I know…paved and nature. It’s like putting “snot boogers” and “casserole” together and then expect a positive response).
And instead of running half the distance on the trail and then turning around, we decided to run the whole distance in one shot. Point A to Point B.
We don’t even like repeating a simple sentence when the other person didn’t hear us (because he wasn’t listening). Repeating the same four miles, just backwards? I’d rather rake my own fingernails down a chalk board while someone holds a rubber band on the back of my legs, pulls it as far as it can stretch and then releases the tension on my bare skin.
We looked at a map (and since when has a map ever helped us? Never. That’s when) and scoped out the ending point – a park. Perfect. So, we found the address to said park, drove my car there, parked it, and then drove Tim’s car over to the start of the trail.
Our plan? Eight miles, right to my car, located so conveniently at the designated ending point.
Did we think to bring anything, like water or a cell phone or an emergency whistle in case we took a wrong turn and ended up out in the wilderness for ten days?
It was only eight miles.
So, we start our run, already looking forward to the end.
Just to clear the air: the only reason we run is to get medals and eat. I guess that’s two reasons…but whatever. We don’t run just for the hell of it. We’re greedy. We need some kind of tangible reward.
Anyhow, eight miles later, we get to the end of the trail…except…it isn’t the same end where we parked my car.
This END was a place we didn’t even know existed but, conveniently enough, had the SAME DAMN NAME as the park where my car was sitting.
By the time we realized we were in the wrong place, it was noon. And hot. And we were who the hell knows how many miles from my car and eight shitty miles from Tim’s car or any type of liquid sustenance.
I tried to convince Tim that the water in a retaining pond was safe. He just looked at me all, “Shut up and start walking.”
After backtracking two miles (or, TEN miles if you’re doing the math…I wasn’t), we starting falsely remembering places…a gas station…but we had no money…that’s a huge disappointm…no, wait…there was a church! With a fall festival and a fifty foot high waterfall…I’m sure they’ll be generous…shit…no church…OH! What about that roaming pack of fairies riding unicorns, handing out watersicles?
It became a battle of wills not to jump in front of the three hundred people we saw riding bikes and demand they get the hell off and give up their ride to someone (ME) more in need of the transportation. I almost shot out my hand and ripped a camelback off one unsuspecting victim…but Tim grabbed my outstretched arm at the last second all, WHAT THE HELL? YOU WANT TO GET US ARRESTED?
If it means we get to sit in the backseat of an air conditioned car with water, why the fuck not?
Yeah…he had to ponder that one for a minute.
Then about a mile later, we start seeing these sporadically placed water bottles…FULL OF GATORADE.
I went to grab one and Tim yanks my hand away like, “What are you? Five?”
No. I’m thirsty. I’m dehydrated. I’m about to start lapping up puddles.
By the time we passed the sixth Gatorade bottle, we had both decided (in our heads) that we were taking the next one. Screw moral codes. So, we started playing mental games with each other, trying to distract the other’s attention so we could scope out the trail ahead and then get to the bottle first. Share it? Hell no. Winner takes all.
It all started with Tim faking trying to jog to “get back faster” and then pointing behind us saying, HEY! LOOK! IT’S THE SNOWCONE TRUCK!”
My head jerks around, looking for the truck…memories from my childhood flooding back of that nice old man making the best snowcones in the entire universe…perfect amounts of syrup with the shaved ice…I cannot resist a snowcone (which Tim used to his full advantage…ass).
And as I’m searching in vain for the truck, Tim took off.
I caught on to his coy little attempt at stealing the Gatorade from me when my last shred of sanity finally yelled loud enough all, “HE’S LYING! HE’S LYING!”
I whipped back around, saw Tim running like he was being chased by a pack of rabid wolves, and sprinted down the trail after him, catching up and shoving him from behind, sending him flying into the bushes as he was bending down to pick up the bottle. He somehow managed to grab my ankle and pull me down with him. Then, as he was yanking my pony tail while I was holding his earlobe, a dude in tiny running shorts breezed past us, swiping up the bottle.
Tim and I look up, covered in dirt, watching him open the top and begin to drink…
Tim half whines, half whispers, “If I wasn’t so damn thirsty I would CHASE HIM.”
Really? So thirst puts the brakes on your ability to react? Shouldn’t have said THAT, buddy. Now I know how to render you helpless.
That little runner in the tiny shorts downed his drink in about ten seconds and kept right on going.
DAMN HIS GENIUS PLANNING.
Once the item that caused our momentary lapse in civilized behavior was gone, we had no option but to start walking again, now thoroughly pissed off because there were no more Gatorade bottles.
Tim: “I thought you KNEW WHERE THE END OF THE TRAIL WAS!”
Me: “It’s not MY FAULT THE NAME OF BOTH PLACES ARE EXACTLY THE SAME!”
Tim: “You should have looked at the map. You would have NOTICED SOMETHING WASN’T RIGHT!”
Me: “I did. SO. DID. YOU. Why didn’t you pipe up then, MacGyver?”
Tim: “You are SO DIRECTIONALLY CHALLENGED. You know that, right?”
Me: “No. I’m pretty sure I’m awesome.”
Tim: “… that doesn’t even make sense.”
Me: “Yup…I’m am totally awesome.”
Tim: “Just keep walking.”
Me: “I AM WALKING. SEE?”
And I start marching like a toy solider, exaggerating every single step.
Tim: “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Tim: “Seriously, stop walking like that.”
Me: “Like what? Like this?”
And I start circling him, doing the chicken dance.
Tim: “What. the. hell. I’m done.”
Me: “No, actually…we’ve still got like, five more miles.”
Tim: ” I was being sarcastic.”
Me: “FIIIVE MOOORE MIIILES!”
Tim: “How about we play the silent game?”
We eventually DID make it back to the car. Barely. We stopped at a Walgreens (a pharmacy) and I was forced to go in and buy Gatorade while Tim hyper ventilated in the car, all, “WE ALMOST DIED!”
Whatever, dude. You’re just thirsty.
I think that was the closest I’ve ever been to delusional…not counting the time I woke up from anesthesia and started yelling at everyone.
Nurse lady: “Everything ok? You need to like, wake up now.”
Me: “I’M COLD.”
Nurse lady: “No, sweetie. Wake up.”
Me: “HELLLO….I AM FREEZING MY ASS OFF.”
Nurse lady: “Jessica. WAKE UP.”
Me: “I SAID I WAS COLD. COLD AS IN GET ME A DAMN BLANKET.”
Then I felt a warm sensation on my arm. At first, I was all, FINALLY!…and then the sensation kept moving down my body.
I thought I was dying. I was all, seriously? Is this really happening right now?
My eyes shot wide open, trying to focus and figure out why my brain was screaming, “EMERGENCY! WAKE UP! SOMETHING IS WRONG! SNAP OUT OF IT!
My eyes finally fall on the nurse lady at the side of my bed. She was staring at me with this diabolical smile across her lips.
Nurse lady: “So, are you warm enough to wake up, now?”
That’s what caused my body to freak out. It had never had something that magically made ALL THE PAIN IN THE ENTIRE GALAXY DISAPPEAR.
She thought her little you’re-not-really-dying-but-I’m-going-to-scare-the-shit-out-of-you-for-being-a-bitchy-patient joke was hysterical.
She better be glad I get all woozy with needles and blood.
But I’m damn good at blackmail…and I hear karma calling….