2001-07-23 - 19:55 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

The Sieve

Stereotypical thinking I guess would be a name for the route I intended to think. "But", I thought, "here is an exception to that and Mrs. Dodger doesn't do that and Mr. Billfiger isn't like that." So there went my separation of the sexes by traits.

Okay, how about this, there are some people who would rather die than stop and ask a reliable source (or any source) for directions. There are some people who will get out city maps and state maps and plot their route, right down to the side of the street they want to park.

It isn't always the man who won't stop and ask and it isn't always the woman who knows exactly where they are and where to go. I dunno, maybe it is on the order of 65%-35% or 80%-20% that it turns out to be the man who won't ask, and the woman is common sense about things.

Which seems to be strange to me I think, for from an early age boys range wider and locate things by street name, address number and which road goes where. But when grown it seems as if they don't want to admit to themselves that they are in danger of committing a boo-boo by possibly being headed in the wrong direction and risking mental trauma.

Along side of that are the people who don't know their own town enough to give directions to a stranger lost in a weird place. I will not give myself a pat on the back for being one who asks directions, I am human and make my mistakes in other ways. I remember, sometime in the 1950's we were headed to Denver from Tampa and entered the world of Dallas / Fort Worth. Sometime after they established the loop highways. It was evening when I began asking for directions out of town to the northwest, toward Wichita Falls. For almost an entire night I wandered round and round the loop, unable to find the way out of the area. I tried everywhere, filling stations being the number one source in my mind, but no help there. Policemen -- same story. In the process of wasting time I had asked most every sort of person who might be a source of directions. In a way I was wondering if any of them had ever been out of the Dallas/Fort Worth area. In the process, late at night I fueled the car as the gas tank was emptying while zorching the loop highway, round and round. Finally I stopped for coffee to help stay awake and while in the little ulcer gulch I saw a man in battered work boots, worn jeans, denim shirt and disreputable excuse for a Stetson. I tried to phrase my question the right way so as to give no offense, not going in to my long sad story. I asked him if he could give me directions to get out of the area and head for Wichita Falls. He grinned and said, "I am heading home out that way, when we all leave, just follow me. When I turn off just keep going on the highway. In a little bit we were on our way, seeing the road signs giving Route number and next town, etc. Later I began to wonder that maybe some of the earlier wrong directions were not wrong but that a road sign had been wiped out to where we causing us to miss the turn. Anyhow, that was along about the time I decided to forego attempting travel through big towns at night if there were turns to different highways to be made in there.

Asking directions doesn't always help either.

Leaving home, sure of how to get to the desired destination and finding oneself lost is a foible of both sexes I think. Heather and I spent a good part of an evening hunting for a place that she was sure she knew where it was. After a great amount of time and conversation it finally became clear that she had never been out there in the dark. I find as I get older and out of the going to and from work routine that I can become confused at times, fall back five and fumble before getting it right.

When I used to deliver flowers from our flower shop in a new area often after looking at the pitiful street maps then in existance out there I would call the recipient and ask for directions. Man or woman giving them it would have about the same results. Sometimes very explicit, accurate directions. Sometimes such a mish-mash that I wondered how the man ever made it to work or the woman found her way on her daily rounds. Such things as forgetting how many traffic lights before a turn or saying a building marking a turning point being on the wrong side of the street according to what was said. The inability of some people to remember street names other than the one they lived on made directions a bit addled. And then some people didn't know east from west in the Denver area, wow, with the Rocky Mountains in sight I wondered how they could be confused.

So rather than doing the stereotype bit about men and women I guess I should say that there are some of us who can't tell navy from dark blue, others of us who can't hit a nail square on the head, some of us who can't replace a light bulb and even some of us unable to properly pour liquid out of a boot that has a faucet at the toe and directions printed on the sole.

We humans who live in such a funny assortment of ways are the fodder for cartoonists always ? or at least 90% of the time.

The size of the mesh determines what comes through The Sieve . . . . . . . . . . .

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