Whatever Honks Your Horn

The wedding was over and attention now turned to the reception to be held almost the full diagonal across town from the church. An out of town guest was asking the group nearby if she should follow the directions through town distributed by the wedding party, or follow her sister's advice and take the freeway around. "You'll miss all the lights, and you can drive at freeway speed," her sister had assured her.

"Do you think that's the best way to go?" she asked us "locals."

How to answer? Indeed, the printed route did in fact take you through town; and yes, the freeway would be simple and faster driving. But the town path is direct, while the freeway takes you miles out of the way -- a giant loop to the west and then to the south, only then to wind up back east. The town route does, in fact, wind you through city streets, but also along one of the most scenic views around. Meanwhile, the freeway takes you...well...along the freeway.

"The truth is," we told her, "you are going to get there about the same time either way."

"But my sister said I would get there fastest on the freeway."

Well, maybe. I doubt it, but she could be right. I certainly haven't timed it. Even if it is true, I'm not sure it's compelling motivation. There was, after all, more than an hour between the time of this conversation and the announced time the lids would be lifted off the buffet chafing dishes. Either path would get a person there almost an hour early. Is there a lot of incentive to be the first one to arrive? Is there a prize? True, you could help the caterers finish setting the tables; and you could stand at the door and welcome all the guests arriving at a more leisurely pace; and if that isn't enough, there is that "first in line" chance at those marinated olives. And the confident assurance that you won't miss a single song on the wedding soundtrack. Reason, enough, I suppose to put the pedal to the metal.

I frankly don't know which route the guest finally took. She was already there when we arrived, but then we not only took the slow, tedious, stop-lighted but scenic route through town, we stopped off at home on the way to relax and feed the dog. Speed, we determined, was not our priority. Admittedly, we missed a few songs, but there were still plenty of olives.

Whatever honks your horn.