I was meeting Kari in Alamo Square Park yesterday afternoon to gabble (it's a word) and watch the residents of San Francisco do anything they want (one man played a sitar whilst sitting in a tree and a group of forty-somethings took a series of what appeared to be prom photos with the houses from the opening credits of "Full House" as the backdrop) and I got lost trying to find her. Upon initial consideration this probably sounds like a non-noteworthy event in a person's Saturday afternoon seeing as public places in San Francisco tend to be full of people on Saturday afternoons and because Kari didn't really put her best foot forward when sharing her coordinates with me ("I'm in the middle-ish, maybe?"), until you realize that I had an application on my smartphone called Find My Friends that displayed Kari's precise location in relation to my own, in which case things start to seem a smidge pathetic.
The thing that happened when I got into the park and pulled up the aforementioned app was this: instead of walking toward the yellow-ish orange dot, the dot that represents Kari and is, incidentally, marked by a photo of her face, I walked toward, or tried to walk toward, rather, my own dot (the blue one). As a matter of fact, I attempted to walk toward the blue dot (myself) all the way back down the hill I had just climbed before considering that maybe something was off as I wasn't gaining much ground on the yellow-ish orange dot but was actually ungaining ground on it. All told, I tracked myself away from Kari for several minutes before ultimately determining that Camp Pendalouan's summer orienteering program was complete and utter bullshit.
In the end I altered my course to the middle-ish area of the park where Kari was lying on a towel eating rice crackers and flipping through a bath-water-weathered copy of The New Yorker. I quietly took a seat next to her and listened as the sounds of the sitar drifted at us from above, all the while worrying about whether or not I'd be able to find my way home later.