Why is the road getting there always longer than the one coming home? Especially when I use Google Maps?
Two weeks ago, after Bri attended the Monsignor Farrell HS prom on Staten Island, she and her friends went to Seaside Heights. Being the overbearing, over-protective worried mama, I let Bri go for just one day. She drove out with a friend and Bob and I picked her up that night.
Before leaving the house, I Googled the address of the motel and ran out the direction sheet — complete with colors, lines, and arrows. Unfortunately, Google doesn’t always give you the best, or easiest route. And if you are unfamiliar with the lay of the land, you can easily find yourself asking, “Do you know where this is?” to every gas station attendant between here and Timbuktu.
After getting off the Garden State Parkway and finding ourselves hopelessly misdirected and running low on fuel, we stopped at a station, (which, as it turned out, was not far from the motel — but we had no way of knowing because we had no frickin’ clue where we were).
So Bob filled the tank with that “cheap” New Jersey gas as I went in to talk with the clerk.
Unfortunately, he had only a rudimentary knowledge of the English language, at best.
“Do you want matches?” and “Which pump are you using?” was the extent of his conversational skills.
Fortunately for us, there was a very nice young man, reminiscent of a California beach blanket surfer dude, who heard my plight and offered to lead us to Mecca (also known as the Hershey Motel).
Gratefully, we accepted the offer and proceeded to follow our “Pied Piper” of the Jersey Shore there. We arrived, picked her up and left (going home was a whole lot easier).
Fast forward two weeks, another prom (hers), another trip to the Jersey Shore (same motel), where she would sleep over — against my will. But Daddy relented, because she really has him wrapped.
My only condition, outside of an implanted GPS, was that she check in every hour.
Anyway she was really great about checking in — until she didn’t.
When “Mom Panic” sets in, there’s nothing else to do but to give into it. I managed to track her down and discovered that the minor sore throat she had when she left had blossomed to 101 degree fever, and she was cold and shivering.”
“Bob,” I said, “It’s time to go get her.”
Time was insignificant (it was midnight), Bri was sick, and I was going. This time, we used MapQuest and got there much faster. MapQuest instructed us to take Route 35 South and, sure enough, that went straight to the motel’s parking lot.
Not for Nuthin, when you have to get there fast, MapQuest is the only way to travel.