Guilt of Whopper Proportions

Yesterday a 30ish lady in an old, old rusted-out pickup truck flagged me as I was getting ready to pull out of our neighborhood here in the country onto the main road.  She had come from the opposite direction, looking a bit frazzled, in fact, almost panicked.  She hurriedly explained someone had told her about a back road she could take to get to her job, but now she wasn’t sure where she was at all, and she was afraid she was going to be late to work.  She said she needed the road that would take her right into town, right by Schnucks, the grocery store.  

I noticed she wore a uniform. 

Her badge said Burger King.  

Oh, no problem!  I confidently smiled, nodded yes up and down, and reassured her I could get her right there.  It was easy, considering she only had to turn onto one more road and then she’d be on the exact road she wanted, a straight shot. 

I told her to stay on this main road until she saw Staunton Road and take a right onto that.  Then she’d go a short distance until the stop sign where she would make a left.  Then she’d be on a direct path to Schnucks.  Can’t miss it. 

Wondering to self:  Why didn’t she say Burger King was her destination?  Burger King is in front of Schnucks.  Oh well.  Whatev.  I knew exactly where she was talking about.

I drove off, pleased that I had helped another girl in need even though it took a minute away from my picking up Jack from after-school band practice.  As I drove on a mile or two, I looked back in the rearview and there was no sign of her, no pickup truck in sight.  Oh no, she should have been right behind me.  What if I confused her and she thought she was supposed to go back the direction she’d come from?  I realized I hadn’t used any east or west in my directions.  I assumed she’d know to follow me as I pulled out and that was a dumb assumption.  I felt bad that I hadn’t been more specific with her or that I hadn’t offered “Follow me” to get her to the right intersection she needed.  Duh, Diane!

Guilt, guilt, and feeling bad set in until I glanced back again, and way far back there, I spotted the pickup truck behind me.  Oh good, she did understand.  But, man, her truck must really be doggy if she has to go that slow.  Maybe it’s on its last leg but yet she’s just trying so hard to get to work.  Whew, I thought, am glad I was there to help her out. 

It was nice to again feel the good vibes, kinda like pride actually, that I’d made a little difference to someone that definitely looked like she’d been hit by some hard times but was trying her best.  I relaxed down into my van seat with a sigh, feeling comforted and relieved that I had her on the right track….until I passed the Staunton Road sign -- the Staunton Road that turns to the south.  She needed the Staunton Road another half mile down that turns to the north.  Dang you, crazy Staunton Road.  I totally envisioned her seeing that Staunton Road to the south first, saying “Oh, that’s it! That’s my road!  That helpful girl in the van was so right; this is easy!!” and then turning south on a road that takes her even further from her job.  Then she’d make the left at the next road precisely as I had told her, which would put her, finally after many miles, out in the next town. 

Where they don’t even have a Schnucks. 

So again, extreme guilt set it and I had to quickly weigh “Do I turn around and go try to track her down with my van loaded with kids as I make my other kid stand outside the school thinking no one loves him anymore, or just continue on my course?” I opted for that and have lived with the guilt of steering that lady wrong now for the past 18 hours. 

Thanks for letting me unload.  I think now maybe I can let it go, but I bet it’s just gonna feel like a big punch in the stomach when I see a Help Wanted sign in the Burger King window.