I’m pretty sure I was born under an unlucky star.  It’s not that bad things always happen to me, but more like good things usually don’t.  I never win contests or drawings. Never.  I don’t even bother to enter them anymore.  So there had to be a mistake.         I checked the FedEx label on the box for the fourth time.  That was my name and address printed there.  I turned over the glossy white enclosure card, which to my continued surprise still read:
                 CONGRATULATIONS!
            Your name was selected in a
            recent  sweepstakes drawing.
            Your prize is the 2009 Guiding
            Universal Interactive Driving Expert.
            You’ll never be lost with a GUIDE!
    
I peered inside the box.  There, nestled among the Styrofoam peanuts was a GPS navigational system that looked expensive enough to make a Mercedes Benz blush.  It would give my fifteen-year-old Ford Escort an orgasm.  Well, my car deserved a thrill.  One that didn’t involve threadbare tires on black ice or the 50/50 chance her brakes might catch, that is.
        My cell phone gave an off-tone ring and I gingerly pulled it out of my pocket.  I had dropped it on the sidewalk at lunch and a guy on a bike ran over it.  It still worked, though.  Sort of.
        “Hello?”
        “Teagan?  Is that you?  You sound funny and I can’t hear you very well.”  It was Eugenia, my best pal from work.
        “Yeah, it’s me,” I shouted.  “I had to tape my phone together and I think I covered up the microphone bit.”
        “Girl, how many phones have you wrecked this year?”
        “Too many.  I’m going to have to make do with the Scotch tape job on this one until 2047, now that Shawna got promoted instead of me.”  I couldn’t stand Shawna.  Now the dimwit was going to be my supervisor.  I could feel the tears I had cried all the way home threaten to reappear.
        “Baby, that’s why I called. Come on over to my place for dinner.  You shouldn’t be alone after such a bad day. We can trash Shawna’s nasty hairdo, then forget our worries in a gallon of Häagen Dazs.”
        “That sounds great.”
        “What?  You have a date?”
        “No,” I yelled into the receiver.  “I said that sounded great.  You didn’t have to seem so surprised, though.  I could’ve had a date.”
        “When was the last date you went on?”
        It had been about a year.  That was a depressing train of thought, so I was glad Mrs. Koogle next door started pounding on the wall.
        “You keep that noise down in there, party
girl!” she screeched, and gave the adjoining partition a few more whacks.  “I call my sister, you’ll be out on your ear!”
        Party girl?  That was a laugh.  Mrs. K complained when I flushed the toilet in the middle of the night.  The only way I could have a party here was if I invited mimes.  I was tempted to tell her this, but her sister owned the building and I didn’t want to take any chances.
        “Listen, Eugenia, I gotta get off the phone.  I’ll grab a bottle of wine and see you in twenty minutes.”
    
After hanging up, I changed out of my work outfit into some comfy sweats with a stretchy elastic waistband.  Lots of room for expansion in them for an ice cream binge.  I sniffed my fleece top and it had the not-so-faint hint of boiled cabbage.  Good thing I wasn’t going out on a date.  Mrs. Koogle’s kitchen was behind my closet and I could swear she cooked that stuff just so my clothes would smell funny.
        Why couldn’t I have a neighbor who liked to bake chocolate chip cookies?  Men would follow me in the streets if I went around in outfits that smelled like baked goods.  No wonder I don’t get asked out.  I never heard of men being attracted to the alluring scent of borscht.
        I pulled a bottle of Merlot from the wine rack on top of the fridge, snagged my keys and shouldered my purse.  As I was closing the door behind me, I stopped and picked up the box containing my prize.  It was exciting to win something.  I knew I should probably sell the GPS system and use the money to get a new cell phone and pay some bills.  But somehow I didn’t want to part with it.  This little device was tangible evidence that I was actually capable of having something good happen.  I needed that.  I needed not to be lost.  I needed a GUIDE.
                                    ^   ^   ^
The next morning, I woke with a start.  I could feel a little panicky sensation creep over the covers and settle in around me.  The light slashing in between the slats of the bent metal blinds was brighter than it should be for 7:00 a.m.  That’s when I usually get up.  I rolled over and groaned.  The red digital numbers on my alarm clock were flashing 12:00.  There must have been a power outage during the night.
        I rummaged around in my nightstand drawer for my watch; 8:30!  My chest tightened.  I had to be at work at 9:00 a.m.  Okay.  I had to pull myself together.  If I skipped a shower and didn’t do my hair, there was a good chance I would get there on time.  Or near enough on time for Shawna not to notice.  I did not need to be late on her first day as shift supervisor.
    
I threw on my clothes and got down to the parking lot in just under ten minutes.  Five minutes later, I was stuck in solid gridlock, desperately needing an alternative route.  Good thing I had won that GPS system, right?  Eugenia’s son, Devin, had installed it for me the night before.  He had never heard of the brand name, but said it had all the latest technology.  I’m sort of a technically challenged person.  It takes me months to learn how to use a new cell phone.  So, I was ecstatic when Devin told me all I had to do was press the “On” button, which I did.
        “Good morning, Teagan.  Your GUIDE has been activated.  Destination please.”
        “Uh, work,” I responded.  Devin had programmed in all my usual haunts.  Apparently, all I had to do was say them.
        “Thank you.  There is an accident on the freeway, causing heavy traffic flow on this road.  Turn north on Truman Avenue, the next right.”
        That would be taking me away from the office, but I did what I was told.  The GUIDE’s voice reminded me of the Super Nanny’s on television.  I felt compelled to obey the proper British accent.  The consequence for noncompliance could be a “Time-out.”  She might tell me to park in a corner and think about my recalcitrant behavior.
        Truman had absolutely no traffic and I sped down it for about a mile toward the riverfront.  This was not an area of town I usually drove around in.  Nobody did, unless they were looking for a cheap “date” or expensive recreational pharmaceuticals.  Just when I started to think my GUIDE had forgotten about me, she spoke:
        “In one block, the road will end.  Turn right on Riverside.  Continue heading west for 1.3 miles.”
        I squinted at the GUIDE’s LED display screen mounted on the dashboard. The map showed that the road she wanted me to take paralleled the river.  At least it headed back towards work.  I made the turn and passed by some warehouses for sale and an abandoned factory, surrounded by a tall chain link fence.  Up ahead, the Interstate crossed over Riverside on giant graffiti-covered pillars, then spanned the river.  As I got closer to the overpass, I could make out a few people hanging out under the bridge.  A woman with a very short skirt teetered down the sidewalk on extremely high heels.  On the opposite side of the street, a gaunt man in a gray hoodie leaned against the spray-painted concrete wall.  He yelled into his cell phone, gesturing wildly with his arms.  Just past him, a person stood hunched over a shopping cart full of garbage bags.
        My eyes darted to the door locks, then to examine the four-inch gap at the top of the window. The power window switch had played out several months ago and I had never replaced it.  It’s surprising how expensive parts like that can be.
        Guiltily, I shifted my gaze to the GUIDE.  It was definitely more important to be safe in a car than have electronic gadgets I don’t need.  If I ever made it to work, I would post an ad on the bulletin board, selling the unit to the highest bidder.
        “Teagan, the next light is Elm Street. Turn left on Elm and head south for two blocks.”
    
The signal was red when I got there.  I pulled up next to the guy with the shopping cart and stared intently at the light, trying not to catch his eye.  I fiddled with the radio, prayed for a green light, checked the time and was surprised to find I still had five minutes to get to work.  I got another surprise when a grungy hand slid in my window and thrust a wadded up flyer in my face.
        “That’s for you,” Shopping Cart Guy said.  He smiled a snaggle-toothed grin and let the piece of paper fall into my lap.  “So you’ll know where to go and what to do.”
        The light changed and he stepped back. Freaked out, I put my foot to the accelerator and squealed around the corner onto Elm.  I almost jumped out of the car when the GUIDE said to turn east on Cambridge.  My knuckles were white from clenching the steering wheel.  I loosened my grip and let out the breath I had been holding for a
    

whole block.  I checked the map.  It made no sense to turn onto Cambridge.  Elm would take me all the way downtown to work.
        I passed the turn lane and continued straight.
        “You missed the turn.  Make an immediate left.”
        “No way!  I’m going down Elm and getting to work, before you get me car-jacked or lost.”  I couldn’t believe I was arguing with a machine.
        “Teagan, I’m your GUIDE.  You’ll never be lost with a GUIDE.  It is imperative that you make a U-turn NOW!”
        The next thing I knew, I was making the U-turn and being thrown the bird by several swerving commuters.
        “Now turn right on Cambridge.”     
    
I was so flustered that I went ahead and rounded the corner, then promptly rear-ended a Volkswagen Bug stopped in the middle of the street. Stunned, I sat for a few seconds before releasing the seatbelt’s death-grip. Then, on unsteady legs, I made my way to the VW.  It was a classic one, with shiny black paint and gleaming chrome bumpers.  I had to give kudos to German workmanship. There wasn’t a scratch on its pristine surface.  My Escort’s fender had a noticeable indentation.
        The Bug’s driver got out and my heart fluttered.  It did.  I felt it skip a beat in my chest. Walking towards me was the cutest guy I had ever seen.  He wasn’t movie star gorgeous, but geek-chic adorable.  Time stood still while I watched him push stylish black glasses up his slightly prominent nose.  He then raked long fingers through his curly brown hair and surveyed the damage to my car.
        “Jeez, I’m so sorry!  Are you okay?”
        “Yeah, I’m fine.  This was totally my fault.  I shouldn’t have listened to my GPS.  It told me to do it.  Not run into you, but turn here.  It has been giving me bizarre directions all morning.”  As soon as I said this, I knew I sounded like a total nut job.  Great.
        “Well, I shouldn’t have been in the middle of the road like that.  My nana passed away and she left me this car.  I came by to pick it up, but I don’t drive a stick shift that well.  I’ve been trying to stay on the back streets, because I stall whenever I change gears.”  He gave me a sheepish smile, with dimples.
        “Well, I should still give you my insurance information.”  I fumbled around in my purse and handed him the card.
        “Let’s just say we were both culpable and call it even, if that works for you?”  He looked at the card before he handed it back.  “Teagan. That’s a beautiful name.  I’m Michael.”  He extended his hand to me and I shook it.
        “Nice to meet you, Michael.  Yes, that’d be fine with me. Would you like some pointers on how to drive a standard-shift car?  I’d hate to think of you getting rear-ended all the way to wherever you were going.”
        “Sure!”
        “Okay.  I’ll pull my car over to the curb and be with you in a minute.”
    
Michael was sitting in the passenger seat, so I got into the driver’s seat and took him around the block a couple of times, explaining the gears. Then he drove and got the knack in a few passes.  He stopped beside my car to let me out.
        “Thanks, Teagan.  I appreciate your taking the time to do that.  Are you going to be late to work?”
        “Oh, that’s all right.”  It was worth anything that Shawna could throw at me.  Not only was Michael cute, he told me he was a computer technician! That made him practically a god in my estimation.
        “Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?  My nana used to make this great cabbage soup and potato dumplings for me when I was a kid.  Since you’ve gotten into the car with me, it’s like I can smell them.  I know where we can get some at this great little place on Fifth Street.”
        “That would be nice.”  Oh my god, he asked me out!
        “Then, it’s a date.  I’ll pick you up at 7:00.”
    
I gave him my address and headed down Elm to work.  When I pulled into the parking lot, I was twenty-seven minutes late. Shawna was probably standing at my cubicle, waiting to write me up for tardiness.  I doubted she could spell it, though.  I could picture her in school.  While all the kids were learning their vocabulary words, she was in the cloakroom eating paste.
        The visual made me feel a little better.  Not much, but enough to get me out of my car and up to the third floor.  The elevator slid open and I casually wove my way to the cubicle I used for my shift at the call center.
    
After signing in, I pulled my headset out and braced myself for Shawna’s attack.  Nothing happened.  I stood up and peeked over the partition.  No Shawna.  No anybody.  Weird.  I had been so nervous coming in, I hadn’t noticed.  Disgruntled voices emanating from the break room were the only signs of human occupancy.  I headed over to find out what was up.
        Eugenia was standing near the back of the gathered crowd of employees.  Her eyes were damp and she clutched a wadded clump of tissues to her chest.  When she saw me, she sadly shook her head.
        Shawna stood at the front of the room with the other members of management.  No one looked pleased. The memo board on the wall had something about India written on it.  Oh, boy.  This didn’t look good.
        By the end of the meeting, we all had packets explaining our meager severance pay.  We had been “outsourced.”  On the bright side, I didn’t get written up for being late.
                                    ^    ^    ^
Double-mocha lattes in hand, Eugenia and I settled into a corner table at our favorite coffee house.  I had told her all about my morning on the way over. She was still stunned.
        “And this Michael really asked you out?  Even after running into him and your hair looking like you got zapped with a stun gun?”
        I had forgotten I hadn’t done my hair!
        “Yes.  Plus, what are the odds that I found the only guy in the city who liked the smell of Mrs. Koogle’s cooking?”
        “Oh, lordy.  What a day!  Say, what was on that paper the homeless guy gave you?”
        “I don’t know.  I just shoved it in my bag.”  I pulled it out and smoothed it on the table.  It was a flyer from a local foundation, offering grant money to women with unique business ideas.
                                    ^    ^    ^
Because of the GUIDE, I had met Michael.  Now I’m married to someone who is technologically gifted and I never have to program my own cell phone.  Before I moved, Mrs. Koogle taught me how to make him borscht and his favorite pierogis.  Eugenia and I were awarded a grant from the foundation.  We leased one of the warehouses on Riverside, and now produce Smart Cookie Clothes Scents, which we sell on QVC.
        I guess life boils down to a series of turns, doesn’t it?  Do you go North or South?  East or West?  Sometimes you just need a little guidance to find your way.
        I set the GUIDE in its original box and laid the enclosure card on top, then gave it a little squirt of Smart Cookie Closet Spray.  The yummy scent of baking chocolate chip cookies filled my office. I taped the box closed, affixed a new shipping label and applied proper postage.  I’d drop it in the mail on my way home.
    
                       About the Author
     
        SIG member Aleta Hallemeier is a native of Albuquerque, New Mexico.  “No,” she says.  “You don’t need a passport to visit and yes, you can drink the water.”  She attended New Mexico State University where she studied Business Management, and became certified as an Interior Designer from a private art institute. 
        For the past twenty years, she has worked in the retail management field: the first ten years in retail clothing, the latter in gift shop applications.  She did a very small stint as an Interior Decorator.  “It was not as glamorous an occupation as I had imagined.  On one occasion, I had to flee from a client’s Pit Bull with twenty pounds of sample books in tow.”
        “Retail has its challenges,” she says, “and isn’t a career for the faint of heart.  But is it a wonderful opportunity to watch people and gain an insight into human behavior.  A lot of the characters I write about are composites of people I have encountered at work.”
        Currently, Aleta is employed in the gift shop at the local Natural History Museum, where she is a part-time child wrangler and peddler of plastic dinosaurs. She loves every minute of it.  Her fellow wranglers are “wonderful gals, who encouraged me to enter the fiction contest this year.  They patiently read and re-read each page, giving me their valuable input, and were as excited by “Guidance” placing second as I was.”
        Aleta last appeared in Calliope in the Spring 2009 issue (#123), with her story, “Dressed for Success,” which was a Finalist in the 2008 Fiction Contest.
  
                                  Copyright © Aleta Hallemeier