Don’t Ask Me For Directions

There are many assumptions about people raised in the prairies and one of them is that we have a great sense of direction. I can confidently tell you that all I know about North, East, South and West is that you should never eat soggy wieners…

For the past few months, I have been going for a walk everyday down at the reservoir. I maintain a pace that is brisk enough to increase my heart rate and still gawk at the shirtless men on the rowing team. 

Some days the paved path feels more like an episode of Wipeout. Instead of dodging spinning cylinders and oversized balls, I dodge spinning bicycle tires and oversized dogs. 

One evening I wore a tank top with the statement, “Happy is the New Black.” The statement is referring to the fact that women shouldn’t have to wear the colour black to feel slim, confident and sexy; happiness does that.

But as I was walking with “Ultra Black” by Nas blasting in my ears, I suddenly realized how the sentence could be misinterpreted by others. 

Without another thought, I dipped into the trees with no plan and no sense of direction. 

While fighting off bugs and branches, I turned the shirt inside out. The words were still clear as day, but backwards. I then contemplated wearing only my sports bra for the remainder of the walk, but thought that may offend people even more. 

So I put the shirt back on, awkwardly shielded my chest and continued through the woods. 

From doing so, I came upon a rocky path along the water with signs prohibiting bikes and dogs. I had mistakenly entered paradise minus the heart palpitations.

I enjoyed the new views as I completed my walk as quickly as possible before tossing that tank top in the donation bin, but this wasn’t the first time I had gone astray…

In If It’s Gotta be Clean, It’s Gotta be Tide-y, I looked unkept. Today, I looked lost. 

I currently have two 4th year Therapeutic Recreation Degree students completing their 560 hour internship with me. For them it may feel more like 525,600 minutes (RENT, anyone?) due to the fact that it’s unpaid and they have to listen to my voice all day.  

I now work at the facility where I completed my internship so I’m going to take a trip down memory lane – seeing as this is the only trip I’ll be taking for a while.

It was a chilly Spring morning in May of 2015 and I arrived as early as parents arrive to the airport. I entered the cul-de-sac and pulled up to the underground parking garage. I rang in, but there was no answer. My preceptor had directed me to park there, so I decided to pull up to the front of the building to ask for assistance – already I was a student taking initiative.

I informed a distracted receptionist that I was the new recreation therapy student there to see Charlotte. She gave me a look of scepticism so I smoothed my frizzy hair as she flipped through her directory binder before making a couple of phone calls.

My heart rate began to increase, but I was still able to gawk at the jarring orange tarp hanging in the front of the building across the street.

Did I have the correct day? The correct city? The correct time? I was coming from Eastern Standard time to Mountain Standard time so it could be possible that I was very late. 

Once she hung up, she informed me that no one worked there by the name of Charlotte and suggested I check across the street. 

She was pointing in the direction of the facility across the cul-de-sac that looked like Bob the Builder’s playground.

As I approached the main doors, I realized I had missed the sign due to the distracting orange tarp. (I later found out there had been an accident, but I still blame construction for my confusion). 

This time when I approached the receptionist and asked for Charlotte there was no look of scepticism. Before I knew it Charlotte appeared around the corner with a welcoming smile and no idea what she was in for.  

Oh, I may not have known which direction I was headed that morning, but I did stumble upon the correct path 4 years later. Lucky Charlotte!