A Married Conversation.

Him: “Turn right on Folsom.”
Me: “I can’t turn right on Folsom. It’s a one way the other way.”
Him: “Take the next right and go around.”

I do as he suggests. Ten minutes later we’ve crossed a very large bridge, apparently the start of Interstate 80, and have completely left the city of San Francisco. I expect to be in Wyoming soon.

Me: “Where are we?”
Him: “I don’t know.”

I take the next exit. It’s labeled in a traditional CalTrans manner with a dark green sign and reflective letters. The sign was installed in 1955. There was a mention of a marina. I pull over to the side of the road.

I grab my iPhone and jump into the maps app. I plunk at the keyboard and enter the address of the hotel we’re staying at. We’re 15 miles away. All I wanted to do was turn right on Folsom.

Me: “Please read me this list of directions so we can get back to where we are staying.”
Him: “Do a U Turn and get on the road that goes to the 580”

The sign says “No U Turn” but I say fuck it and do it anyways.

The sign says “I-80 West San Francisco”. Below it, a suggestion of something about 580 and maybe Stockton but there’s a big chunk of sign missing, perhaps where they should be an arrow or something. I think 580 is in the other direction.

Him: “Turn left!”

I zoom up the ramp and notice that it comes to a merge point where there is heavy traffic merging. I do the reasonable thing and yield to the traffic on the freeway. All of a sudden there’s horns blaring from cars behind me and cars on the freeway. Apparently in California I’m just suppose to cut out in front of everyone and say “fuck it”. So I do.

Him: “Get off at Exit 1B. It’s like the Exit 354A we got off earlier!”
Me: “I don’t know what that means!”
Him: “Take Mission Street!”

The exclamation points are intentional.

I get to Mission Street exit, which is labeled Exit 354A.

Him: “I don’t know the rest of the way. Something happened to the app and the directions are gone.”

He has apparently switched to Yelp, which located a McDonalds.

Me: “Double click and hit maps!”
Me: “Hit Resume!! Hit it!”

Jamie flings himself over the seat and makes shaking motions with my phone.

“Turn left on VanNess.”

Back on track.

And that’s how married people drive through San Francisco.