Some people have a knack for getting lost. I don’t mean in some sort of existential way ‘cause then, we’re all pretty good at that. I mean physically lost.
My first big lost experience was the 1982 Chicago Auto Show. I was two and a half. My family, including some visiting cousins, all trekked down from Milwaukee to see the latest cars. I was walking, but since the convention center was so big, my mom brought the stroller so I wouldn’t get tired and cranky. I barely remember the sights of the actual show. As the story goes, my father was given responsibility over the stroller. He let me walk around for a bit, and let me ride when I was tired. Somewhere by the new Jaguar, while he was transfixed, I got out for some more walking.
Ever a student of classic blunders, I pulled the “follow your dad until he turns around and he isn’t your dad, just some other guy in a tan coat (tan coats being in in those times).” No problem. I turned around and went back into the room with the Jaguar. A million people there. None of them my dad. I started to walk back and forth between the room where I’d realized my mistake and the last room I’d been in the stroller.
Eventually, a security guard noticed this little baby wandering around. Just as I was beginning to feel real blind panic, the type that pricks at your armpits and tightens your torso and hangs out at the back of your head whispering, “You’ll never be found,” this security guard kindly knelt in front of me. “Are you lost?” Sniff. “Yeah.” He swept me up into his arms and took me to the room of lost children.
The room was dark. Full of other kids whose fathers liked Jaguars. There were big kids who had control of all the good crayons. The lady in charge gave me the brown crayons that were left and had me color. When it was apparent that the shock had worn off, she asked me, “What’s your name?”
“Justin.”
“And what’s your mommy’s name?”
“Her name is Siew-Ai.”
“And what’s your Daddy’s name?” Now, since my cousins were visiting and I heard them say it all the time, I proudly said, “His name is Uncle John.”
Finally my parents came to get me. The lady in charge was a little shocked to find that they were married. My mother refused to let me go the rest of the day. And the next year we went to the Auto show, they brought a leash.
Getting lost was a lot harder when I was in school. No, true getting lost would have to wait until I started driving. I had this thing about not dating girls who lived within a 20 mile radius, so I spent a lot of time in the car. The first date pickup would always be the worst. This was in the days before MapQuest, so I’d get directions and then go to the white pages. We had better maps, but I just liked the white pages. Then off I’d go.
I’d usually get lost once or twice. I remember driving to Chrissy Laird’s house for our second date. It was night. It was winter. It was snowing. She lived about 20 miles away, north and west. However, these miles north and west of my town are pretty darn sparse. Street lights are a luxury. I drove through the white, drove through the night. At parts, I’d pull over to knock snow off street signs and make sure that the road hadn’t changed names on me. This was before MapQuest and also before cell phone ubiquity. I was tempted to call ahead from a gas station except, oh wait, there were no gas stations around. Finally I forged on to find the house. Got out, knocked on the door. Her dad was cleaning his rifle inside (I’m not kidding, I’m from Wisconsin).
My friend Lori (who I never dated, but man, I wanted to) lived 20 minutes south and west. The directions she gave me skipped all highways because she didn’t like to drive on them. This time I really did get lost near the target, so I had to call from several gas stations before finally getting to her house. I’d call from one, get refined directions, overshoot the house, call again. The interesting thing about Lori’s house was that I never really quite got the grasp of it. She lived in such a homogenous neighborhood. In the years that we’ve been friends (never girlfriend and boyfriend though) I’ve been back and every time there’s a 20% chance I’ll screw up. One time I pulled into the wrong driveway, saw a lady taking in the trash cans. I went to help her and realized she wasn’t Lori’s mom but helped her take them in anyway.
Getting lost going to a girlfriend’s house (or a friend who thinks it would horrendously change our friendship to date’s house) was OK because in the end, it wasn’t life or death. I only had one of those.
I was a senior. My friend Justin Wall had an uncle who was a rock star. He was the guitarist in the Exotics. They played surf music. And since Justin was a cool alpha male, we all went to see the Exotics. Now, most of my friends lived in Milwaukee proper, or at least a closer suburb. Some of them lived in the very chic East Side and they were practially city kids. I was a dumb suburban trying to quickly acclimate. So, when Justin said, “The Exotics are playing Friday at the Globe,” I just said, “I’m there.”
I went to my trusty white pages and looked up the Globe. It was on North and 19th. I knew where North Avenue was. I could figure out where 19th street was, since we went to school on 35th. So I figured I was set. That Friday I set out on my big city outing. First I made my way to school (Wisconsin and 35th). Then I drove north to the aptly named North Avenue. Took a right. The street numbers went down and so did the quality of the neighborhood. It got dark. I hit my intersection. There was no Globe there.
That’s OK, I figured. Maybe it’s just a bit off North. I turned down 19th. It was one way. Nothing there but a deserted church. I looped around. The hairs on the back of my neck were fully pricked. After a few more aimless turns and a few more nervous glances at my gas meter (oh why hadn’t I filled up?) I pulled up to Queenie’s Fried Chicken. I walked in in my preppy clothes, the only pale face in the joint. “Um, do you know where the Globe is?” I asked Queenie. “Ain’t no Globe around here!” she yelled back to me. I was a flash of preppy light speeding back to my car, running on empty back to suburbia.
Went home, checked the white pages. It turns out the Globe is on EAST 19th.
Then I went off to school. Not so many chances to get lost. First of all, I didn’t have a car. Then, once I did, I noticed that Chicago has this lake, which pulls at your brain saying “This way’s east!” Cellphones make it easy to get on the go directions. And finally, as I’ve noted before, MapQuest held my hand through all my forays until I was well enough versed in the geography to be able to give hurried yelled directions to passing tourists.
Getting around was sort of boring. I didn’t even know where my white pages was. I became complacent. Cocky, even.
And then I met technology’s match. Its name is Boston.
Spring Break, 2002. I went to New York and Boston with my college improv group. We decided to drive to cut down on costs. I borrowed my parents’ suburban assault vehicle. We had three other cars as well. MapQuested everything into binders. Took radios for constant 4 car contact. And off we went.
Everything went perfectly until Boston. Boston, as some of you might know, is in the midst, or has been in the midst of the Big Dig, which aims to put the major highways underground. The roads which are closed change weekly. Street signs are impossible to find. Roads change names and directions. Then they laugh at you. MapQuest just sits down and cries when faced with Boston. Calling people in the know works about half the time. The other half of the time, the person on the other end says, “You know? I never go to that part of the city… Funny. You said you can see a duck? Turn right at the duck. Now, when you get to Jamaica Plains, hey, it used to be a cowpath. Crazy, huh? Anyway, when you hit that road, I want you to drive the shit out of it.”
And they picked me to lead this 4 car caravan around Boston. I aged 4 years that week from stress. No one wanted to ride in my car. Just follow it.
There were times I wanted to pull over and cry. The roads had no rhyme, no reason. Our last day in the city, we were driving to our last show. We started out as usual by getting lost. I felt it. The pricks in the armpit. The pressure to be on time. The weight of responsiblity. We were heading on Mass Ave into Harvard Square again and I realized that we weren’t supposed to be going that way. We’d done that the day before. There was a flash in my head. We had to take the left fork. That would take us to where we needed to go. I lead the caravan into a 4 car U turn right in the middle of Harvard Square. Right over the median. The suburban assault vehicle just laughed at the 300 year old city’s puny brick barrier. A cab driver parked outside the Co Op looked out his window at this kid bearing down on him, 3 cars following behind and said, “Wow.”
When we got out at our destination, I felt a rush of elation. I had been lost, physically lost, but in that moment on the median, I knew where I was. I was in control. In command. I had beaten Boston. And I knew that I would never be lost again.