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    Comedy of Errors

    May 17, 2018

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    Seeds of Doubt

    May 10, 2018

    I had an early morning interview scheduled in an unfamiliar place:  Bryan County. 


    On my screen, it seemed like a straightforward route.  Take Victory (80) to Richmond Hill.  Make two lefts.  The middle school would be located on the left.  


    The route should have taken close to 35-minutes; instead, it took nearly an hour.  Thus, my 7:15 a.m. interview took place somewhere near 8:00 a.m.  


    How does this happen?  


    Before my journey, the seeds of doubt began to propagate; my ego said:  "You're going to get lost."  


    And... that's exactly what happened. 


    When I squinted at the posted sign, it read something to the effect of... now entering the city of Richmond Hill. 


    Moments laterI read... now leaving the city of Richmond Hill.


    I panicked.


    Surely, the school would be within the city limits.  

    What happens next? 


    I make a u-turn. 


    Then, I hear a POP from my right exhaust pipe.  




    I am running out of fuel.  I switch over to reserve and find a gas station.  While there, I realize how late it is.  I call the school to see if I should even bother showing up.  


    A soothing receptionist's voice -- Wendy's -- melts all my troubles away.  She reassures me that folks get lost out there all the time.  She tells me to hold on a second.  Then, she makes me laugh:  "Come on --  you made it this far!" 


    Nearly one-hour LATE, I waltz into an interview with two administrators.  Frazzled with adrenaline pumping I stumble through the candidate -- i.e. me -- questioning.  We wrap up in 20-minutes.  I shake the two sets of assistant principal hands and apologize again for my embarrassing debacle. 


    In the visitor's lobby, I thank the receptionist for her kindness.  I say Wandy -- because initially, I thought her name was Randy -- but she corrected me on the phone from an "R" to a "W."  Later, I realize her name is Wendy which kind of sounds like Wandy when you have a southern drawl.  

    I exit the school grounds, and I take a different route. 


    Pretty sure it was 144 West. 


    The seeds of doubt creep in on me, so I turn around and retrace my steps.  I go the way Wendy had suggested -- that route takes me by the high school. 


    When I find Victory (80), I make a right only to pass -- within a few moments -- that 144 connection. 


    Needless to say, I know three distinct ways to find that middle school. 


    As the wheels in my head turn alongside the wheels of my motorcycle, I realize that had I not been lost, I would have run out of gas along a fairly deserted road leading to a very concealed middle school.  


    My interview was a disaster.  However, I did germinate something out of the ordeal:  I discovered a new picturesque motorcycle route through rural Georgia.  





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