Front Porch: Trust me, I can miss it

I’m making a list and checking it twice. At the top of my naughty list are people who tell me, “You can’t miss it. It’s easy to find!”

This is what I’m told almost every time I schedule an interview at someone’s home. Most folks assume I can follow basic directions. It’s a logical assumption, but for the navigationally impaired, it’s just one more obstacle on the path from point A to point B.

Technology hasn’t helped. In fact, I think I was less geographically challenged in my pre-GPS days when I relied on MapQuest and the kindness of strangers to guide me to my destination.

Case in point, a recent interview took me to a neighborhood I’m actually familiar with. I just needed Marcia (my GPS) to get me to the correct house number.

“Arriving at destination on right,” she informed me – and a little checkered flag waved cheerily on my screen. Only problem? It wasn’t the right house number.

Being terribly nearsighted doesn’t help. I slowed down, squinting at numbers that resembled vague squiggles, just like the big E on my optometrist’s eye chart.

I circled the block. Marcia insisted I’d arrived. I told her she was wrong.

Finally, I stopped across the street from what I guessed might be my destination.

The photographer pulled up behind me.

“Is this the right house?” I said.

“My GPS says you’re here at the correct address,” he replied.

Great. His GPS not only found the right house – it also found ME!

I’m starting to think Marcia hates me.

My suspicion was confirmed two weeks later when she lured me to a secluded location protected by an aggressive German shepherd.

Once again, I found the neighborhood easily, but the exact house eluded me. I’ve been lost enough to make sure I’m armed with verbal directions from the homeowner before I set out.

This time I was looking for a “yellow house at the end of a long driveway with a view of the river.”

The devil is in the details – or may be in Marcia, because she kept telling me a gated driveway with a yellow house barely visible from the road, was the correct address.

That’s not what the numbers on the mailbox told me, but after two or three drive-bys I ventured down the rutted lane toward the little yellow house.

No friendly face beckoned from the windows or door and no house number was visible. I’d just decided to get out of my car and knock when a deep growl startled me.

I looked out my window and met the unfriendly brown eyes of an irritated German shepherd.

As soon as I made eye contact, the dog erupted into a fury of frenzied barking.

Slipping my car into reverse, I slowly drove back to the gate, accompanied by the dog, who added a few And don’t ever come back here, again woofs for good measure.

I parked at the side of the rode and called the homeowner.

“Your photographer is just pulling into the driveway,” she said.

Sure enough, I found them both a few houses away.

You may assume user error is to blame for Marcia’s inadequacy, but I assure you I keep her updated with the most recent maps. This only adds to my dismay when I try to find a public building that to my knowledge hasn’t budged since the first satellite went up.

On Saturday afternoon, I drove to Cheney to do a “War Bonds” reading at the library. Now, the only time I usually visit Cheney is to attend EWU football games. I can easily find my way to the red turf, but since I’d never been to the library, I programmed the address into my GPS.

Or tried to. Marcia adamantly insisted 610 First St. does not exist, which may come as some surprise to the citizens of Cheney.

Thankfully, I’d been told the library was next to City Hall, and Marcia grudgingly admitted to the existence of City Hall.

Sometimes I feel alone in my affliction. Other people seem to zip all over town to unfamiliar locations with nary a problem. However, when I posted on Facebook about my latest lost ordeal I was surprised by the number of people who share my struggle.

I’d like to start a support group for the navigationally impaired, but I’m not sure if any of us would be able to locate the designated meeting place.

I just hope I’m on Santa’s nice list because what I really want for Christmas is a sense of direction or maybe Rudolph with his nose so bright to guide my Oldsmobile tonight.

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. She is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation.” Her previous columns are available online at spokesman.com/ columnists. Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval.