There’s never a shortage of people in Hamp who stop and ask me for directions to some random street. I have no idea where things are, I don’t live there. Maybe I appear like I have a knowing look about me? Maybe I look like a townie?
“Do you know where blah blah blah is?” some lady asks. “No, sorry I don’t,” I say. “I heard it’s around here somewhere,” she goes on. “Yeah, I have no idea, sorry about that.”
Not 10 minutes later a man asks me if I know where some restaurant is and the conversation goes the same way.
I feel I’ve turned into a curmudgeonly old man. Why this irritates me? Who knows. Probably for the same reason that everything irritates me these days. The wind blowing in the wrong direction bothers me. It’s like PMS on steroids.
I’ve decided the next time someone asks me if I know where blah blah blah is, I’m going to look at them with a straight face and say in my average girl next door American voice, “I’m sorry, I wish I could help you but I don’t speak a lick of English, good luck with that though.”
That should be fun times.