good directions

I once got directions to a job site that took the form of the following conversation:



Boss: I'm sending you out to work with Eddie. Drive down Route 10 and take a left at the convenience store that used to be Mr. Mike's. Its called "Effendi's" now, I think.

Me: Okay.

Boss: You'll drive down the road and over the river where there used to be a covered bridge.

Me: Oh right, the one that some kid burnt down two years ago.

Boss: Right, that one. After you go over the bridge, you'll take a left on the road that used to be the old Route 10. The job's on the right hand side about a mile down that. If you drive over the railroad tracks that aren't there anymore, you've gone to far.


Armed with a clear set of landmarks, I found the place with no trouble at all. This was all in the days before Google, so it represents a situation that few people would find themselves in anymore. Before I get all nostalgic and misty eyed about things have changed and how we've lost touch with the earth and our souls, I want to dwell on the absurdity of physical landmarks. A landmark is only successful if it creates a story that the brain considers worth remembering. A landmark that you have never seen before is useless until someone takes a moment to describe its significance in a way that transcends the architecture. As a corollary to that idea, and as my story above illustrates, once a landmark is established in your mind its physical destruction doesn't represent a real setback for wayfinding activities.

I have no idea where the covered bridge in this picture is. They rebuilt the one that was burnt down that I didn't drive over fifteen years ago.