Wandering the concrete labyrinth for a better look around
I’d be willing to wager a fair amount that if you stuffed me in a sack and lugged me out to the center of a cornfield somewhere, I’d have a pretty good shot of figuring out which direction was which and eventually making my way home. If you took this same man, however, and drove him eyes wide open into the heart of any major city and dropped him off at the curb, there would likely be someone else writing this column from here on out. I’d never be heard from again!
As a matter of fact, you wouldn’t even need to go to the trouble of transporting me to the big city. Just find yourself any building of moderate size — hospital, hotel or government high-rise, particularly one that’s been added on to over the years — and turn me loose. I’d be gone for good in the maze of corridors and elevators. Please note this is not to be construed as a challenge. I’m just trying to make a point here.
Last week I delivered myself and a handful of fellow country dwellers to our big annual work conference in Columbus, a thriving metropolis that now boasts a population as large as Ohio’s next three top cities combined. It was a fine crew, men of education and experience, and we found our way to the proper parking deck without so much as a single chirp of “recalculating route” from our pickup’s navigation system.
Once we pulled our parking ticket and gate swung skyward, things began to go south. And I say that metaphorically, because after four ascended loops around the inside of the structure, none of us had a single clue where south might actually be.
A band of seasoned pathfinders in the wild world, not a pair of us could agree on which direction might lead from the whipping wind and -5 F temperatures to the warm and civilized confines of our meeting venue. Stairwells at all corners and an elevator somewhere near the middle, each way appeared the very same as the other. We wandered to the nearest edge of the building, hoping to spot the sky somewhere amid the concrete and stone towers, but this plan soon proved futile.
Short of waddling down our own spiraling wheel tracks through four floors of oncoming traffic like a clutch of lost penguins, we elected instead to descend a stairwell that eventually dumped us out at ground level. Once on the street with the good earth beneath our feet, each of us immediately recognized the spot as the very same place we had ended up on the previous year’s journey — the single most distant point from our intended destination!
There’s a lot to be said for consistency. We knew exactly where to go from there. And if you’d ask any one of us, we were never actually lost. We just wanted to get a good look around.
Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.