{MINIPROMPT}: Where Is the Worst Place You’ve Ever {Gotten Lost}?

We all get lost or feel lost sometimes. It happens. But sometimes, getting lost is a little fun and exciting. Other times, it’s a complete and utter nightmare. Let’s go to the dark side. What is the worst place or time you’ve ever gotten lost?

Jay Heltzer

Before gaining my driver’s license, my parents gave me the Thomas Guide test: opened to a random page in the three-pound, spiral-bound map that covered the sprawling 5,000 square miles of Los Angeles County, found a random cross street and said, “Get home.” I surveyed the overview pages, and easily charted a course to safety… except the night I needed it.

After driving a friend home on the north side of the San Fernando Valley, I proceeded down a street I was convinced met the freeway. By 12:30 A.M., I was so turned around, I couldn’t find my way if I were Saint Ferdinand himself. Because I didn’t know where I was, my Thomas Guide was as helpful as Mapquest Beta! Confused and desperate, I pulled into a well-lit gas station with a payphone, called home, woke my dad, and said, “I’m lost.” In his sleep-bedraggled consciousness, he asked about my welfare and the last big street I remember driving on. “Get on Laurel, take it south, away from the hills to the 101. Call back if it doesn’t work.” I returned to my car, looked at my map, and said, “Et tu, Thomas?” before safely venturing home.

Kelaine Conochan

As long as you have nowhere urgent to be, getting lost in the daytime is no big deal. But what about at night, at the Grand Canyon, in late December, when it’s literally 0 degrees F outside? Oh, you didn’t think it got cold at altitude in the desert? *teeth chattering noise*

The good news is that we weren’t off-trail lost in the wilderness or in need of search and rescue. The bad news is that our fellow hiking partner inexplicably ran ahead, then took the car “to come back for us.” But we’d been in that parking lot for two hours and he hadn’t. We were not lost, wandering. We were lost in the same parking lot where we started our day, 12 hours and 22 miles ago.

Eric Mochnacz

I was promised the path would be easy. You said there would be challenges, but we would travel, hand-in-hand safely.  You said every step together, no one left behind, because it was you and me. I ignored all reason and better judgment and committed to the adventure, full of possible obstacles and pitfalls, because you promised me the destination would be worth it.

But as I climbed higher, you weren’t there to push me. You fell behind. You became distracted by other paths, other adventures, other journeyers.

So, I climbed the path alone. And here I sit, at the summit, sitting on a rock, the sun rising, taking in all my accomplishments… alone. All because I chose to get lost in your eyes.

Josh Bard

Getting lost on a run can be great. It can push you to go a little further or take you down a new path you never knew existed or force you to use a tiny bit of those adrenaline-fueled adventure skills you rarely break out, like the fine china, but the exact opposite. But also, getting lost on a run can be an infuriating, energy-draining, timesuck, which is exactly what it was the day I ran my first high school cross country meet, which, incidentally, was on our home course (a twisting and winding suburban neighborhood) and which I was leading at the time of the missed turn. Usually winners know how to give that extra 10%, but not when it equates to running an extra 10%. I did not win that day.