if ever our paths shall meet . . .

Under no circumstances should you ask me for directions, seriously.

Some poor soul did last week. (I hope he's not reading this and finds out where I live and comes here to beat me senseless. Unless of course he asks me how to get here - sucker!) He asked me where the Halle Building was. Now, the Halle Building has/had a food court (most of the food court has been drywalled over for some mysterious reason) and I have been inside the Halle Building hundreds upon hundreds of times. I know how to get to the Halle Building. If you placed me in the middle of a forest, I would instinctively start walking towards the Halle Building in homing pigeon fashion.

This particular Thursday morning I had just parked my car and was looking through heavy snow down at the ground in an effort not to fall on my ass and possibly give me brain damage. Fine Gentleman comes up to me and asks politely, "Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the Halle Building?" "Sure," I say, happy in the knowledge that I had taken Friday off and was well on my way toward weekend boozing. Then I started to think. Ok, Halle, Halle, that's the whitish one, you ate lunch there every day for a couple of years. It's on the Drew Carey show. Jesus, focus man, this guy definitely thinks you're running on brain stem power only at this point. Halle - right, right. I countiue, "You see such-and-such landmark right there? Well, it's the building right next door. Can't miss it." Fine Gentleman thanks me, clicks his heals, and heads off in the direction I had sent him. Good thing I hadn't dropped acid that morning or I would have had a hard time telling him the way.

I head in the opposite direction, towards my office and start thinking again. Wait, that doesn't seem right . . . OH SHIT. I just sent him to the Halle Building parking garage. Where is he? Oh, man, he's too far away to catch. Oh well. Granted, the parking garage is across the street from the building - across the street on the other side of the parking garage. For whatever reason whenever a stranger asks me directions, I always panic. I want to be a good ambassador for my city. I don't want to fuck up. But, I start talking, and while I send them towards the proper vicinity, I invariably leave out some minor detail like which way to turn at an intersection.

Here's to hoping he found a crackhead hobo to show him the proper way.

p.s. The bolded words denote possible excuses for my stupidity.