My sister-, bother-, cousins-in-law, and I are all packed into a rented mini-van that Matt is driving, and we're looking for In-N-Out Burger.
There had been a slightly drunken expedition there the night before, but it had been in the dark, and the driver hadn't been with them. We're on Twin Peaks Road, and we're getting conflicting information.
"Jake said that when you leave his house, you go to the main road and turn right!"
"No! We should take this road until we get to the dead end and then we take a left!"
3 U-turns later, we're stuck in after-work traffic. The girls keep "remembering" more directions that they'd been given, more landmarks that they'd seen. "That Outback looks familiar!" "Yes, that's because we pass that on the way to the hotel."
After more memories from the night before that sound more like prophecies from Nostradamus than an actual directions ("after the light, we will pass a plaza with palm trees. We should turn into the next one."), Matt exclaims, "Enough with the repressed memories! You girls are worse than altar boys from the '70's!"
An entire light passes, and we're still next to the same Mobile station. "Alexandra!" we all say, "Jump out and go ask the people at that station where In-N-Out is!" Surprisingly, she agrees. Well, not so surprising since she was one of the instigators of the trip. Five minutes and one disturbing toothless man hitting on her later, she's back in the car, and we're finally truly on our way to In-N-Out.
A half hour later we're successful, filled with Animal Style fries, and happy to be in California. And I finally understand what all the fuss is about.