Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Brain, What Brain?

I never ask directions. Probably a function of dyscalculia, I can't take or give verbal directions.

But since the streets in our neighborhood seem to have been laid out by the developer's hyperactive six-year-old kid, the morning dog walk is sometimes interrupted by somebody asking for the location of a particular street. A reasonable enough question, I guess, but a bad idea nonetheless.

First, at 7AM, I want to be left the hell alone. Second, since I navigate by landmark and direction, they never get a coherent answer anyway.

This morning the encounter was with a "too stupid to live" woman.

Me and the canine kids start to make the turn from our little street onto Barey Road, just as a gray car with its braindead driver creeps along. We stop, waiting impatiently for her to pass. Instead she slows and I realize I going to get The Question. Crap, I think. The Rat Dog and Greyhound strain at their leashes, just as annoyed as me.

"Can you tell me where 120 is?" Her small, dim eyes blink in a round face and I note the absence of the word "Please."

This earns her a blank stare. "120?"

"120 Barey?"

I look up and down the street, thinking She really isn't asking me for a specific address is she? "Erm, I don't know."

Her face tightens. "This is Barey? Right?"

"Yeah. But I don't know all the street addresses." What am I, fucking Yahoo Maps? My eyes pan the street again. Keep in mind Barey is a two-lane road, probably no more than a mile and a half long, with a 25 MPH speed limit. Not exactly hard to find a street address if one puts her tiny mind to it.

"Oh," she says, clearly disappointed.

I point at a nearby house. "Why don't you check that one and see what its address is," I say, holding back a tide of snark. Why dontcha check that one, see what address it is and use your brain for something besides packing material?

"Oh. Okay. Thanks." The last word is underscored with a "for nothing" tone.

"Uh-huh," I say, thinking Dipwaddicus stupidus gigantus.

She continues on her way and frankly, I'm astonished she can operate a vehicle. Resolving from now on to say "I don't live here" when confronted with The Question, me and the fuzz beasts continue with our walk.

Happy Tuesday. I need a shower.

P.K.

 

Graphics and Content Copyright © Patricia Kirby 2005