We were to meet at 48th avenue and 50th street in five minutes. So far, so good.
The coordinates were straightforward. The time-frame a little tight, but what could go wrong?
Barrhead is tiny. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone knows everywhere. Everyone can help everyone.
Not that directions would be needed. Any dimwit, even one without an internal compass or the foggiest notion of north, east, south and west, can follow the numbered system of roads. As easy as 1, 2, 3.
What could go wrong?
So it was off into the October sunshine with a confident tread and that buoyant nearly-at-the-end-of-the-working-day feeling.
The first pinprick of doubt followed some mindless back-and-forth scurrying.
No need to panic yet, of course. Double check at that shop over there and with a dose of local knowledge everything should be fine. Who cares about being two minutes late?
“Excuse me, can you tell me where to find 48th and 50th?”
The assistant has a friendly face.
“Ah yes, well I think … hang on a minute, I’ll just ask …”
There is an impromptu conference – furrowed brows, thoughtful discussion and then a consensus of sorts. “Go up to the high school, that should take you there.”
A glance at the watch, lightning arithmetic and a spurt of optimism douses doubts. Only three minutes after deadline: still within the bounds of acceptability.
Scoot up the street – or is it an avenue? – and everything will be fine.
What could go wrong?
And so the story continues …
“Excuse me, can you tell me where ...?” elicits a hodge-podge of responses.
One helpful face suggests “up past the county offices on Highway 33.” Twenty minutes later and I’m back asking questions. There are two vacant expressions, one “try over there” and a reluctant “sorry, I can’t help you.”
Finally a man at the Blue Heron building fixes me with a glittering eye and reels off directions with scary detail. Dead on, of course.
Forty minutes late and I’m in the realm of eccentric excuses, awful apologies and confessions of stupidity. But at least I’m one up on most of humanity – I know where 48th and 50th is without studying a map or thinking too hard. Plus I’ve done some serious power walking.
Of course, most people in Barrhead get by just fine with numbers, but had I said Kowalski Way or Veterans Way everyone would have known immediately where to point.
In any case, who wouldn’t prefer to live in Grizzly Drive or Coyote Crescent rather than 48th and 50th? A name provides identity. It creates character, mood, atmosphere, something to love, something to hate, something to dread.
Numbers are cold, aloof, practical and generally logical. They reject emotion and personality.
Say Wall Street, Downing Street, Fleet Street, the Avenue des Champs D’Elysees, Hollywood Boulevard and a place comes to mind, complete with history and colourful associations.
Movies also like street names – A Nightmare on Elm Street, Lakeview Terrace, Mulholland Drive and Madison Avenue.
If street names are good for British Prime Ministers, Monopoly, movies, newspapers and doctors, why not for Barrhead?
They could be used to recognize the good and worthy. Or big events, or hockey teams.
How about Schulz Terrace, Horner Highway, Steelers Avenue, or Pumpkin Walk?
Why not give streets names AND numbers?
I mean, what could go wrong?
