DIRECTIONALLY CHALLENGED

For one woman, this little problem has led to some embarrassing but hilarious moments!

As a new immigrant to Canada, I was having a problem understanding the person at the other end of the telephone line. “Where do you live?” “New Street,” I replied. “North or south on New Street?” came back the rejoinder.

I gave this careful consideration before replying: “How do you tell?”

Where I came from, directions were not given according to compass points. They were much simpler: Go straight for two blocks, turn left at the church, go another three blocks, passing the school…and so on.

I grew up driving on the left-hand side of the road. In Canada, I would have to change to driving on the right-hand side of the road. My brain was not able to make the transition. I came to the conclusion that I would be a hazard on the road, so I gave up driving. I think I made the right choice for everyone concerned as, even after decades, I still go to get in on the driver’s side of the car rather then the passenger side, and when I cross a street, I look the wrong way and catch myself stepping out in front of oncoming traffic.

Besides not comprehending the cardinal points of the compass, I also have no sense of direction. A prime example is any visit I make to our local mall. When I emerge from a store, I instinctively head off back the way I came rather than in the direction I intend to go. My husband cannot grasp that after 40-plus years of frequenting the same mall, I still cannot figure out where I came from and where I’m going. This disorder has penetrated my psyche as I have recurrent nightmares about “getting lost.”

CAMERA SHY

It appears that I am not only directionally challenged, but I also fail to follow directives I am given. This was exhibited when I went to obtain the new health card that required a photograph. As I had never applied for a driver’s license in Canada, this was an unfamiliar procedure for me.

My husband and I arrived early at the government office. Despite the fact that no one else was present, I insisted on taking No. 1, as requested by the sign. In due course, we were summoned to the counter.

The civil servant was not very civil or perhaps she was simply not a morning person. She ignored my husband’s friendly greeting and comment about the magnificent view from the window behind her. “Have you all the necessary documents?” she snapped. I duly presented the completed forms. “Stand in front of the camera,” she commanded.

I noticed a camera sitting upon the counter and moved towards it. Somehow it reminded me of the phoropter the optometrist used to test my eyesight the day before. With that image in mind, I stepped up to the camera, bent over and placed both my eyes

on the lens, much like peering through a pair of binoculars.

The civil servant jumped up from her desk in rather an agitated state and motioned to me to move back to the full-length screen on the wall. I hadn’t noticed it before. I did as I was told and turned to face the screen. In my mind, I figured the camera would take my picture and invert the image. I vaguely remembered that this was how cameras worked. Apparently, this was not the case. The civil servant was now hysterical, waving her arms wildly.

At this point, my husband stepped forward and swung me around. “You have to face the camera,” he said. He apologized to the distraught civil servant “You can’t take the country out of some people, “he added. We left the civil servant in the throes of uncontrollable laughter.

Unfortunately, these misunderstandings continue. Last week during a bone density test, I was doing as I was told, lying still on my back and not moving my head. The Coronavirus face mask had also slipped somewhat —obscuring my view. Consequently, I did not see the technician holding a large cushion. All I heard was: “Raise your legs.”

Naturally, I took him literally and followed his instructions verbatim by shooting both my legs straight up into the air— quite a feat for an elderly lady. Apparently, I was supposed to simply bend my knees and place them over the cushion rather than present this less than decorous spectacle.

It was a good thing the technician was wearing a mask to hide his shock. I know I was certainly grateful for the shield against my embarrassment.

Perhaps in future, I would be wise to invest in a compass to assist me in following directions. It might also be more helpful to me in avoiding misunderstandings if I were less creative in following people’s instructions.