Magical Mystery Tours

When our kids were young and I found time, I would call out, "Mystery Tour!  Get in the car!"  I wouldn't tell them where we were going.  It might be to get a strawberry limeade somewhere, or it might be to a kids' museum or an overnight at Aunt Barb's.  There was intrigue and anticipation and clues to be found.  Those were fun trips!

This weekend I had two trips to Kansas City.  The first one was with that Spouse o' Mine.  He had an annual check-up with a doctor in a new KC office.  I suggested that we use the GPS we borrowed from daughter Gillian while she was in Australia.  So he turned it on and put in the address.  Immediately Sheila (I think that's her name; my friend Paula has a cousin who works for Garmin and she (Sheila?) entered a contest a few years ago to become the "Voice of Garmin"  AND SHE WON!!  How funny is that?  I know the cousin of the Voice of Garmin"!) ...anyway: immediately Shelia started talking.  En français.  In French.  I commented that while French was fine, I thought English might be more useful. But English was not on the language list, and so we went with "en français".  After all, how difficult is it to comprehend "droit" and "gauche"?  We found our way just fine.

The next day I  was to pick up two (adult) kids at the airport in Kansas City early in the afternoon, and another (adult) kid later in the afternoon.  Inbetween the two fetchings, I turned on the GPS, typed in the airport code, and off we went, en français, to pick up kid #3.  It was to be a 20-something-minute drive from the Palza to the airport.  We drove and turned droit and gauche and droit and gauche, and finally crested a hill that took us to the airport.

Whoa!

Wrong airport.

Or, as I reflected as I spied the lone widebody jet out on the tarmac, "This is not the right airport!"  I dissolved into laughter.  I pulled up alongside the lone police officer, still laughing, and told him we were at the wrong airport.  I thought he would chuckle, too.  But he was all serious police business, and so the humor was lost on that guy.

He did, however, direct us - in English - as to the route to the "right" airport.  And we made it there thirty minutes before the plane did. 

I love Mystery Tours.