Bad Directions are indeed recipes made for disaster. You’re doing something, making something, repairing something, going somewhere, and you become confused, not completely lost, just confused, so you stop and ask for directions. Guess what? Duh! Nine times out of ten someone gives you the wrong directions or you give yourself the wrong directions. These kinds of directions are Bad Directions when used in recipes that make for disaster.

[Note: Among the various definitions for “title,” let us consider the one defined below and use it here in conjunction with the appropriate definition of “recipe.” Both definitions have been quoted from the Oxford American Dictionary and enhanced for incorporation with this posting on Bad Directions.

* TITLE: noun • a descriptive or distinctive name that is earned or chosen: Nata’s deserved the title of Best Restaurant of the Year.

** RECIPE: noun • figurative something which is likely to lead to a particular outcome: Sky-high interest rates are a recipe for disaster.

End of note]

Listen! Hear that whiney, squeaky inner voice resounding without letup: “Please stop and ask for directions … Please stop and ask for directions … Please stop and….”

So it goes, but whoa! Suppose we handle the revealed Bad Directions accordingly, but with a sly manipulation of its title* and/or its recipe.** If one is creative enough, one can still rescue oneself and salvage one’s ego, too, after the recipe has gone bad. One way is to change the wording of the original title (intent) of the recipe in such a manner that eventually everything sounds okay.

Most times the original body of the recipe stays firm; other times its meaning becomes a punster’s switcheroo to suit an as-is title. And vice versa. There can be an amendment or a completely reworked title. Both the recipe, and its title can even change entirely. Several such recipes will be examined here as samples. There are some exceptions and other variations with Bad Directions, of course.

#1 Recipe’s title: ON THE ROAD TO CINCINNATI. Recipe: Tired and sleep-deprived and late one night, Cincinnati-bound, I had to stop for fuel. After paying, I asked for directions and, woebegone, they were Bad Directions because I took the East ramp out Instead of the West ramp out. Much later, wee hours later, I pulled into Conshohocken.

Okay, I edited Recipe #1 into a slightly changed recipe and altered its title to ON THE ROAD TO CONSHOHOCKEN. Hey! they both start with a “C” — what more do you want? Nevertheless, bad directions are Bad Directions and, to save face with myself, I thus claimed that I hadn’t changed my mind at all — that this is where I wanted to be; therefore, ON THE ROAD TO CONSHOHOCKEN.

Why bother? Because it was to satisfy my needy self and to boost my self-respect and to maintain my dignity. Hey! you might say I did lie to myself. But no, I tell you no lies! I always wanted to check out Conshohocken. Really! For sure! And the title’s change made the recipe for disaster with its Bad Directions achieve its journey’s end okay. Most of all, okay by me. And that takes care of that! The hell with Ohio, hello Pennsylvania!

#2 Recipe’s Title is WELL-GROOMED HAIR WITH ACME HAIR GEL. Recipe: I am in a rush, one morning, at someone else’s apartment, nursing a groggy hangover, nixed the possibility of shaving. I’m running late. I’ll just floss and brush my teeth and comb my hair.

“Hey! Where’s your hair stuff?”
“There’s Acme Hair Gel in the tube next to the tooth paste, second shelf.”

Of course, Bad Directions or dizzy me. And sooo, I brush my teeth with toothpaste and comb my hair also with dabs of toothpaste. Whoops! Too late now for a shampoo. Later at work, when questioned about the shiny highlight streaks in my hair and its peppermint odor, I smiled like an idiot but — presto– immediately I edited that recipe’s title from WELL-GROOMED HAIR WITh ACME HAIR GEL to WELL-GROOMED HAIR WITH ACME HAIR GEL (IMPROVED). That should satisfy everybody, mostly me.

Moreover, I did that so well that it made me chuckle, warmed by my success in assuaging my ego, and halting any further ridicule from coworkers with my ready reply. Respect, respect! Good job; I flipped this recipe’s title — in reaction to Bad Directions — just by adding one word (IMPROVED).

#3 Recipe’s title: HOW TO GET A RAISE OUT OF THE BOSS. Recipe: I have rehearsed my spiel over and over. Practiced in front of a mirror. I have just this one chance this year for a yes/no to my raise in salary request. I ask the boss’s assistant:

“Anybody get a raise out of the boss?”
“Oh my, yes. Richard Roe certainly got a raise out of the boss.”

Richard Roe got a rise out of the boss, all right! He raised his blood pressure, raised the color in his face to scarlet red! Poor Richard. I didn’t get a dollars-and-cents raise either. Poor me. Poor boss, too, when he screamed “NO” at me that way. Bad mood, wrong timing, maybe next year. I hate that smarty-ass assistant.

Sooo, I edit this recipe’s title from HOW TO GET A RAISE OUT OF THE BOSS to HOW NOT TO GET A RAISE OUT OF THE BOSS. Guess what? The how-not-to tale went over big with my pals at lunch with its double meaning of the word, raise. That word’s misunderstood meaning was the Bad Directions.

#4 Recipe: A Loose top falls off a salt shaker or pepper shaker. The title can be edited from JUST A TINY SHAKE to IT’S OK — I LIKE SALTY FOOD /I LIKE SPICY FOOD.

#5 Recipe for Butting-in: I step in to stop a fierce argument for the sake of peace and harmony where a woman wrestles with a coworker and yells “Help!” The two of them respond by turning against me and beat on me for my butting-in on their horseplay. I edit the titles from HELP! to HELP WITH A PLAYFUL NUANCE.

#6 to #12 Swapped Recipes: 7 of theirs to 1 of mine. Actually 7 of theirs to my own no-recipe. It was downright unnerving during my gifts’ assembly time for Christmas. Take the jungle gym set. I wanted to start right and decided, first of all, to read the directions for the jungle gym set before taking the pieces out of the box. I retrieved the directions (instructions) from the box. They were on a slip of flimsy paper 3 inches by 8 inches in fine print on both sides in 7 different languages, with diagrams.

While waiting for my morning coffee to brew, somehow I lost the instructions. After searching for 2 hours, I decided to consider the instructions as forever gone. Sooo, drinking cold coffee, the recipe’s title went from DETAILED ASSEMBLY INSTRUCTIONS in 7 languages to the new title: LOOK, MA! NO INSTRUCTIONS.

I could do it. That’s right, and I would still assemble jungle gym in half-an-hour, the allotted assembly time printed on the box. The Bad Directions in this last example aren’t in 7 different languages; The Bad Directions was my decision to work without any directions. I could have called the department store and requested a copy. But, oh no!

I start. Seventeen hours later … with a 1-hour nap … then eight hours later and I’m still trying to figure out the recipe of pieces for this jungle gym set. Impossible, but it’s so … By then, I would even have settle for a wordy something, anything, even directions in Swahili. Maybe one or more pieces were missing? Was the project completed successfully in the end? Not by me. No, I was //CENSORED WORD//. Have you also been there, done that with this particular recipe? Oh Kaka!

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