Ask for directions? Never!

February 09, 2013

After battling with the travel gods last night I eventually arrived at London Bridge Underground. I followed the signs to street level and bundled out of the station with the rest of the crowd onto the pavement. I was meeting my friends at a pub on the riverbank apparently close to the station.

I had some rudimentary directions; I knew the name of the pub and I had been told that it was left out of the station.

It was dark, the buildings were many stories alongside the road, there was rain in the air and a large number of pedestrians. Even worse the underground station had three exits. I didn't know which exit I needed to use and only a vague idea where the pub was.

http://notjustagranny.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/p1010022-london-bridge-underground-station1.jpg

Now I guess the smart plan would have been to ask for directions, to approach one of the station staff and politely enquire if he or she knew the way to the public house, my chosen destination. Many people might have asked. But not me. I very rarely ask for directions. Asking for directions is for weiners. It's a sign of weakness a confession that you are unable to navigate yourself from one place to another.

When people ask me for directions I feel smug, I feel I have the upper hand. Don't get me wrong, I'm polite and helpful but also pleased that this person has admitted defeat, all be it in a game that they are unaware they are playing.

I remember once a car pulling up beside me and the driver asking for directions to a pub. They were miles out of their way, confused by the network of roads and roundabouts in a 1980's estate. I started the directions, turn right at the roundabout, second exit at the next roundabout and the next, third exit at the next, first right, second left, etc. My directions were clear but lengthy, as imparted my knowledge I could see the route in my head and was aware that the driver's eyes were glazing over, she couldn't keep up with me. She was lost again after my third direction. She thanked me and drove off. I watched her go. I watched her turn left at the first roundabout...

And that's the trouble with asking for directions. They are often more complicated than can be comprehended by a person already lost and stressed. On the few occasions where I have admitted defeat I have found myself nodding and thanking the person with only a little more information than I had before.

So last night I checked the map in the station and committed it to memory, orientated myself, looked up at the sky to spot the constellation of Orion in the East, sniffed the air for the smell of the Thames and set off in the direction I believed was correct. My instincts were right. Within three minutes I was at the entrance to the pub without one wrong turn.