It’s Day Three of my 10 Days for Tina Fey, and on this day, I have realized a job that I unfortunately cannot fulfill for Ms. Fey. It crushes me to think that there is potentially a void in Ms. Fey’s life that I cannot competently fill, but I must be honest about my abilities so as to not overextend expectations. What is it that I cannot do?
I cannot be Tina Fey’s sense of direction. For those who know me, you are well aware of the depths of my ineptitude when it comes to directions. I’m the one who heads left to the ballgame, when throngs of individuals head right to the gigantic stadium in full view. I’m the one who wanders aimlessly around a restaurant after using the restroom, unable to find my table. I’m the one who cries hysterically because I have managed to trap myself in the pet food aisle of the grocery store and have become stoned at the smell of pureed liver.
Indeed, my confidence in my utter lack of direction has caused me to develop a method by which I can find my way. Like a blind man with a heightened sense of smell, I have adapted to my flaws by relying on my gut to tell me where I should not venture. I think right — I go left. It was down a floor — I go up a floor.
So what led me to make this confession to Tina Fey? To splay open my deepest flaws for Ms. Fey’s critical eye? Well, this morning, I attempted to go to the doctor and was nearly thwarted by my own inability. Although I was armed with a GPS device that took me into the general vicinity, I emerged from my vehicle and encountered the largest medical building known to man (at least in Virginia). Having failed to fully prepare for this adventure (e.g. writing down the damn doctor’s suite number), I entered the closest entrance and began my quest. After asking several individuals for the location of my doctor, I finally found my way to Information. The woman at Information looked at me with a sense of judgment gleaming in her eyes. She informed me that I had, of course, parked at the complete opposite end of the building to which I should have gone. I broke into a crippled jog, blasting through hospital double doors like a young cardiologist in any number of medical dramas. Finally, I found my way to what I believed to be the last building in the series and approached the woman at Information, upon which I immediately asked her for the location of my doctor. And, as if I was beamed into a sit-com, the looked-like-she-might-die-at-any-point woman fumbled around for her spectacles, and began chit-chatting with me about how she has three different directories, and she was not sure which would have my particular doctor. After what seemed like hours, she finally informed me that I needed to cross the street to enter yet another building in the complex. I dashed out, hair blowing in the wind, growing happier and knappier as I entered the final building and made my way into the doctor’s office, scaring the crap out of the receptionist, who of course told me to wait 15 minutes.
I apologize for the digression. The point of this is that, in the interest of full disclosure, I must inform Tina Fey that I cannot act as a directional guide in any capacity.
However, my 30 Rock spec script is complete. Discover me, Tina Fey!