It's bad enough for me that I have a sense of direction that is downright embarrassing. On top of that, L.A. has to have the most baffling bunch of roads in the world. They have numbers, since they're highways. No, no, they're called freeways here. OK. So you say, what's the problem?
Well, the problem is that I can't figure them out. We have the two big ones, the 405 and the 101. Fine. But often I'll hear someone saying something like, "Did you see the doozie on the 5 yesterday? Boy, it was so slow I had to get off at Avalon and get on the 603. That's faster than the 451, by the way, and then it was cool all the way until I hit the 270, and boy, then I had to...."
Yes. Never mind that I drive even on our surface streets like a woman of 107. What will happen when I have to career around on those numbered things? Ah well. As we say in Hindi, I should just take the No.11 bus. Snicker, snicker. (For those who don't know, it means I'll WALK. HA HA HA.)