I could start by saying, The liquor store took pity on me. I could tell you that my GPS, Garmin…? Yeah. She’s a conniving little harpy. I could describe how in the space of only three hours, I managed to get lost in the mountains — with a dead cell phone — and then ran out of gas.

But this is the kind of story that needs every unlucky, foolish, embarrassing detail. Sometimes you have a day so hilariously horrible that there’s nothing you can do but shake your head, laugh about it, and tell everyone you know. Of course first, you cry. In my case particularly, the crying was done in a sketchy-looking parking lot during rush hour while I waited to be rescued. My useless GPS lay beside me on the passenger seat, unplugged. The tangled chords seemed to grin maliciously at me.

So how did I get there in that parking lot, scared and hungry, defeated by evil mastermind electronics? If you answered, “By trying to be a good friend!” in a high-pitched, cutesy voice betelling that I am a selfless creature made of huggles and kindness, you’re correct. I wastrying to be a good friend. Usually, I reside in the northern reaches of the States; a land flowing with coney dog joints and constant highway construction. See: Michigan. Pure Michigan…Last week, however, I was visiting my family in Tennessee. It’s warm and pretty there. And people talk funny. They wear a lot of orange; just about everyone’s a Baptist; and they like to hunt things, preferably with their bare hands, or perhaps a carefully sharpened dagger. See: exaggeration. Anyhoo, my parents live in a small town a solid twenty minutes out from the center of Knoxville, and it is in this small town that the misadventure at hand began.

Believe it or not, despite being thoroughly weird, I do have “friends”. People. Bribed strangers – er, besties. This girlfriend of mine and fellow bookworm had devised a plan to meet me at McKay’s — a magical book warehouse fifteen minutes up the interstate. See?

New books, old books, ugly books, silly books. And good books. Everybook. The selection is ever-changing, and your opportunities for acquiring a stack of new favorites are virtually endless due to their truly magical system. You can refresh the books in your reading que by trading in your recently devoured novels for new ones — and you can keep doing this for, well, ever! Sometimes the books are falling apart, with thoughts scribbled in the margins, and sometimes the books have never been cracked open — but all of them are cheap; so as poor college kids craving some words, plan we did to meet there.Well dears, things were going as usual: I was running late and my friend wasn’t. I guess let’s call her Hermione. They’re both ridiculously smart and loyal with a tendency to be surprised (but pleased) during exhibitions of their own badassery. Ref: Hermione Granger punching Malfoy in the face. Unfortunately, disaster rose up against Hermione’s punctuality; she discovered she had locked her car keys inside her car. Drat, bollocks, dash it all. She’d left her wand laying on the back seat and thus had no way to get her car keys out. She told me this sounding greatly distressed over the phone, and since I was determined to see her before I left town again for several months, I offered to swing by her parents’ store and pick up her spare keys. This would require a pretty long haul and a lot of back and forth driving, but I was willing.

Little did I know, my gas tank was not. We’ll get to that soon enough.

Eventually I set out on my way to Hermy’s parent’s place, my cell phone sitting in the cup holder next to me. I had charged it all night and the battery was full. Sitting in traffic, it started to ring. I answered, heard someone’s gargled voice, and a second later, it shut off. And didn’t turn back on.

Well. Okay then. Screw you, phone. (Or the universe. Whomever’s in charge of spontaneous phone suicide…I do not like you!) Fact is, someone or something had performed some seriously messed up voodoo on my cell phone right then, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was already late and Hermione needed her keys.

When I got to her parent’s store, they told me Hermione had roped her twin sister into letting her use her car and would be meeting me once again at McKays; I no longer had to drive through the confusingly laid out inner-city Knoxville streets and deliver Hermione’s keys to her at her apartment. Delighted our plan was back on track, convinced all I had to do was press the little button on my GPS touchscreen that would direct me to McKays, I left twirling Hermione’s keys in my hand. There was a little bounce in my step; a little swing to my hips.

Actually there was just a pebble in my shoe, but for me they probably look like the same thing.

I typed in “McKays”. My GPS presented me with the corresponding address and I set out on the open road, Garmin snapping directions at me in an increasingly frustrated British accent. I sung badly to the radio. All was normal.Until I got to McKays.

Because, you see, McKays wasn’t there. Sitting in its place was a steakhouse. And next to it, a shoe store. Across the way, a dollar general — a sushi place, a hair salon. It was nearing the end of the work day and traffic was swelling to a ridiculous volume. Where was it? I drove around in circles with a confused look on my face for ten minutes before pulling into a drugstore to demand an explanation. Because, you know, drugstore cashiers are in control of where new business are placed.

When I get lost, I am overcome with this unstoppable feeling of intense panic and anger. I approached the counter with my eye twitching and an evil Voldemort glow to my gaze.

The cashier stopped mid-greeting.”Oh,” he stammered. “Do you need…ah, help?”

“Yes,” I twitched. A spurt of fire shot out of my mouth, singing his eyebrows. “McKay’s. GPS. Hermione’s wand!”

He blinked as some of his burnt hair floated down onto the drugstore counter. “Of course. Absolutely. Stay right there while I call the police, okay?”

Right, so that’s not actually what happened. He tried to help, explaining that McKay’s moved locations several years ago and that my GPS had taken me to the wrong location. Normally I’d have used my nifty-difty smartphone to look up the new address, but it was still mysteriously dead. Naturally, I asked for directions to the new location.

“Sure,” he told me. “It’s not far from here. Turn right out of here and it’s two stoplights up the road. Turn right again, up a long hill — you can’t miss it!”

Oh. Yes I could, you false information giving bastard.

I did exactly as he said. Turned right out of the lot. Drove past two stoplights. Turned up a very conspicuous long hill, kept going…and ended up in fucking Fangorn Forest. Garmin promptly informed me that she had “lost satellite reception”.

And since it looked like this, I really wasn’t surprised…

My cell phone was dead, my GPS was useless, and any minute now I expected Orcs to leap from the treeline and bite the tires off my car. I was in the middle of nowhere, driving around slowly with a look of glazed-over panic on my face. I didn’t know what else to do, so — I just kept going. For thirty minutes. Hermione’s keys weighed heavy in my car; or maybe that was just the guilt I felt at being an hour late.

And it was about then my low fuel light came on.

I freaked out and immediately started driving in a random direction, trying to find an opening in the trees. Eventually my GPS lit up again and told me, in a metallic Londoner accent, that it was “recalculating.” I programmed it to take me to the nearest gas station, and it steered me out of Fangorn Forest with a long roster of twists and loops, eventually spitting me onto a dusty country road that looked as if it hadn’t been driven on in several decades. But slowly, buildings started to rise up on either side of me. Industrial buildings. Most of them empty or otherwise untoward looking. I bit my lip and kept an eye ahead for the gas station. After another minute, and to my delight, Garmin had managed to lead me to a real address of a real gas station. There was only one problem, though; it was abandoned. Boarded up and dry as a half-assed Christmas turkey.

I practically started crying in the middle of the road, but felt exposed and scared out in the middle of nowhere, so I kept pressing forward, hoping to hit some city again. And I did. You’ll be happy to know I hit some freaking city all right. In fact, I hit a particular piece of city road that dumped me onto the interstate…heading to Kentucky.

Yup. I was almost of gas, over an hour late, with a dead phone and a traitorous GPS — headed to Kentucky.
But folks… That’s really not even the best part.

The best part is that during this whole crapstorm, during this horrible and unfortunate and stupid mix of events, I was horribly sick.

Not only was I lost; I was lost with snot running down the back of my throat and a dead, miserable expression. My posture was hunched and drooping. My throat scorched with burny germs. My eyes watered and leaked, and my head was pounding like a jackhammer. I also really, really had to piss. But I was supposed to be a good friend, dammit! I was determined to get Hermione her car keys (and maybe just to get home, please? Please?). I abandoned my unplanned road trip to Kentucky and managed to follow my GPS’s orders back to the area of town I’d gotten bad directions from.

I think we all know what’s coming next. What else was there to do but find a liquor store and drink away my sorrows?

I parked right up by the door and just waltzed in. Stumbled. Whatever. A woman in a nice pantsuit was putting stickers on things at one of the registers. She was chatting seriously into a headset. I just stood there,waiting — staring like a homeless guy about to mug someone. Finally, she looked up at me. My eyes were shiny and my lip trembled.

“Do you need help?” is what she asked.
I’m not sure what I said in response. I maybe said, “Give me all the vodka you have or else!”

But it may not have been even that coherent.

It maybe went like this:

Me: *twitch* *sniffle* *sob* ”Phone. Now.” Pause. “Meow!”

Manager: *terrified look on face* “You can dial as many long distance numbers as you want, just please don’t hurt us! Dial 9!”

I dialed Hermione’s number, sniffling and twitching. When she answered, she was angry. “Where are you?”

“I’m lost and I don’t know. I just want my mommy. I want to die.” I started to cry. A few rough looking alcoholics in my general vicinity walked away quickly, looking scared.

“Tell me what you see, where you are. I’ll come to you.”

“Uh…uh…a dinosaur statue? And that place where they sell….you know, wedding clothes?”

“David’s Bridal?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Crap. Okay. Go to the nearest bank parking lot. I’ll find you.”

She did find me. She found me, and laughed at me. But then she hugged me, took me home to her house, and fed me stew and muffins.

The morals of this story are simple, so heed them well, readers:

1. Have a phone battery that works.

2. Have gas in your car.

3. Don’t trust your conniving GPS, Garmin.

4. If you must get lost, wear nice clothes so the ladies at the bank don’t think you’re a hobo and will let you use their restroom after you’ve had to pee for two hours.

5. Call your best friend if you need rescued. She’ll hug you and then feed you stew.