I'm fine calling a plumber to fix a definitive plumbing problem. But paying a plumber for a housecall just to hear I needed to push the reset button on my disposal? Or pop off a little plastic cover and clean a black plastic seal in the toilet flushing mechanism? So I attempt to educate myself, contact technical service departments over the phone, and take care of any smaller issue I can. These forays are often fraught with challenges, but rarely the ones I expect...this is how I ended up on a recent rainy morning driving to a new-to-me plumbing supply store a few towns over for a toilet fill tank replacement part.

I got basic directions from the fellow on the phone. We'll call him Keith. We'll also change most of the proper names. I doubt Keith reads blogs, but just in case...

"The store is just past the Mayville Mall," says Keith. "Where Market Basket is."

"Is that the exit right before 95?" I ask. There are three "malls" along the highway in this town, not all can be seen quickly before you need to choose an exit, but I thought I knew which one was the Mayville Mall.

"It's Lincoln Street," says Keith. "You want Lincoln Street."

Keith works in this town but he is not sure which exit off the highway gets a person to his store. This should have been a red flag, and it was a pink one, but I had my GPS and I thought I knew where he was talking about, so off I went...with about 20 minutes to spare in turnaround time before I had to be at an appointment back in my town. This should have been red flag number two, but I attempt to schedule things at least that tightly all the time, so I wasn't phased.

I get off at the exit my GPS indicates, circle around with the "mall" generally on my left, which is where Keith said I wanted it, and follow the GPS directions off to the right where I proceed to get deeper and deeper into a neighborhood, and then end up at a T...which has nothing to do with the basic directions Keith gave me, and is going to land me a fraction of a mile to the right which is not even the same street name I punched in. Strike one for the GPS.

I turnaround to head back toward the highway exit, calling Keith. As I get closer to the exit, I'm naming landmarks (still in the town he works in) and not a one of them register. I tell him I think I got off the highway too early. He doesn't concur. When I get to a rotary, his tone brightens. He's got me now. He tells me to go the opposite direction than I think I need to, but I follow his advice. Within a few minutes I am back in the town one over from mine, minutes from home. I did indeed not go far enough. Strike one, or is it two now, for Keith.

I get off the highway and turn around again and start going back the way I've already been. (My clock is ticking now; I am starting to slip into the danger zone of not making my next appointment.)  

I go further this time, and get off at the exit I had figured was right after my first mistake. Market Basket, voila.  I continue with the directions Keith gave me on my first all. He says he's in a shopping center on the left beyond a bank. I drive and drive, longer than it seems like I should be driving. My GPS is still useless, directing me to go back to that first left off the dead end T. Why, I cannot begin to fathom.

I drive some more. I'm not passing anything that I would call a shopping center. I am in an industrial park. I pass a hotel and then a big TDBank North, a corporate building it looks like, the only bank I've seen. I pull into a company right after...and call Keith.

"I just passed the Holiday Inn Express. Is that anywhere around you? Have I not come quite far enough?"

"No, there's no hotel around here." He must pull away from the phone as I hear him call to his store mate. "Any Holiday Inn around here?" He comes back on the phone. "No, no Holiday Inn around here."

"You said pass a bank. I just passed a big TDBankNorth building."

"I don't know." I can almost hear Keith shaking his head, stumped by this one. "That's not around here."

My windows are closed to the pouring rain, and I'm starting to perspire. I have the tiniest opening of time now to find this store, get the part, and get back home. I fume silently, my eyes searching for other landmarks.

"Where are you right now?" Keith asks amiably enough.

"In the driveway at Frostburg Energy." I answer through thin lips as I contemplate Keith, my GPS, and how else I could find this place. I've spent this much time on it. I do not intend to return home empty-handed. I am going home with my toilet fill tank replacement part. 

"OH! Frostburg Energy!" enthuses Keith. "You're right nearby." 

I take a deep breath. "So I didn't come far enough?"

"Yea, just keep on going down that street, around the bend. We're on the left near the Shop-Rite."

To the tune of my windshield wipers and the growing almost-lunchtime traffic, I take a right to continue along my route. I have not gone more than seconds when my GPS comes to life, reconnoiters and flashes a bulls eye on my left. Thanks, GPS, now that I've got my own visual. I've already seen Keith's supply shop. It is not in a "shopping center." It is not much more than a door in an industrial strip. I don't see a Shop-Rite anywhere.

And Keith could walk out of the front of his shop and if he had a decent arm, throw a rock into the Holiday Inn's driveway. Ditto, TDBankNorth corporate skyscraper.

I pull into a parking space. Keith, as I will now read his name, is leaning against the open door, smoking a cigarette. Clearly, not a real rush of customers this morning. He holds the door open for me, puts out his cigarette and follows me in. I face him over the counter.

"I never told you which way I was coming from." I examine him. Does he get what I'm saying? It took me most of my trip to figure out why every time I though I was on second, Keith had me on first. I make it to third, and he thinks I've not left home plate.

He looks at me blankly.

"I was coming from Clarkville, not Boston. I imagine most of your customers come from Boston."

Keith stares at me.

"So I was coming from the opposite way than you were giving me directions for. That was my error, not to tell you which direction I was coming from." I give him a half smile. You might have asked, Keith.  Doesn't look like any too pressing business was holding you up here from helping a customer, any customer, find your shop.

"Oh..." Keith chuckles. A good one, I've given him. A good chuckle. "Oh. Yea...a lot of people are coming from Boston when they come here."

Keith's not getting off the hook that easy. "There is a Holiday Inn Express," I announce. "Right around the bend. And a TDBANK, too."

Keith raises his eyebrows. You don't say, they seem to suggest. And if someone calls him in five minutes and asks for directions from the Holiday Inn, he'll draw a blank. I know it.

"My GPS didn't work until I'd already seen your shop," I tell him.

"Yea." Another chuckle. "A lot of people say that coming here."

So now I have also traversed the Bermuda Triangle of GPS devices. "Really?" I raise my eyebrows. "That's strange. But mine does that sometimes, gives me bad directions." I look pointedly at Keith.

"I've never used one myself," says Keith.

I just watch him, and listen. Did I know what was coming?

"Nope, " continues Keith. "I've thought about getting a GPS, but I never have." He nods with self-satisfaction. "I don't need one."