So, anyway... here's Ane's story of her first encounter with Southern Directions:
The South, Atlanta in particular, resembles its laid back lifestyle in its roads. They meander around and through the city, the country, and any tiny hamlet in between. They also change names capriciously.
I hail from Los Angeles, where from the earliest settlers, they laid out the towns in a grid. Starting from Olvera Street, Los Angeles grew. Roads ran north and south or east and west. On a rare occasion, you'd have one that ran diagonally. They never changed names, no matter how many miles or towns they went through. If you missed your destination, you drove around the block and came back at it.
We moved to Atlanta in 1990. After a few weeks of getting settled and making friends, I was ready to explore my new home. One woman, who shall remain nameless, told me about a wonderful discount house for designer clothes sold without the labels for a fraction of the original cost. Like any good bargain hunter, I wanted to check it out. She gave me the address and told me how to get there.
If this had been today, I could have punched it into my GPS, however, in 1990, we didn't have that luxury. I had to rely on her precision in giving directions, which I meticulously wrote down.
I drove out of my subdivision and turned left onto Pleasant Hill Road. Following her instructions, I turned right onto Jones Mill Road. My first moment of panic came hit when I found myself no longer on Jones Mill but on Somebody's Ferry. Did I miss a fork in the road?
Keeping up with traffic, which traveled in my estimation, entirely too fast for a two lane country road, I couldn't find anywhere to pull over. Finally, up ahead I saw a sign for a cross street. I signaled, slowed down and made the turn.
Then, I did what any logical person would do. I went around the block ... and ended up in