road less travelled

I gave a little squeak of suppressed laughter as I sorted the mail tonight. Canadian and Blind were the two words my eyes spotted in the return address and it brought back such a funny memory.
My Dad's vision was poor enough that his Doctor encouraged us to attend a seminar put on by the Canadian Institute for the Blind. There would be magnifiers and other aids available for sale we were assured. This sounded wonderful, and it was even being held in Langley, not over the bridge in the heart of the city as is so often the case. The address seemed familiar. I drove easily to the street and we found ourselves gazing at a Home for Seniors, a rather long building stretching down the block. No parking was permitted on the street, and so I turned into the driveway where I was confronted with two choices, continue round the curved driveway and exit onto the street again, or drive straight ahead into a narrow alley that ran along side the building. Hmmmmm. Time was ticking, and so I took the Road Less Travelled. Following the narrow road, we found ourselves behind the complex with no parking, and nowhere to turn around. I certainly couldn't back all the way out again. I felt sorry for my Dad for the thousandth time, that he had lost his ability to drive and was doomed to ride with me, his navigationaly challenged daughter.
I took in the lay of the land and decided that turning around was possible if I did it in fits and starts. Sadly, starting and fitting were my downfall. I have no idea where that metal post came from but I hit it with a solid thunk. Good grief. Rattled, I jumped from the car to check out the damage. The bumper really didn't look much worse, but the post was a casualty.
These deeds never go unwitnessed and an employee, her arms full of linens on the way to somewhere paused and stared. "Could you tell me where the seminar for the blind is," I asked sheepishly. I've always wondered if she thought I was one of the blind.