In Pickwick Papers, Pickwick checks into the Great White Horse Inn in Ipswich, is shown to his room by a chamber-maid only to discover that he's left his watch downstairs. He retrieves it but then cannot find his way back to his room. He's utterly, hopelessly lost. "Rows of doors... branched off in every possible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bed-room door which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within of "Who the devil's that" caused him to steal away.... He was reduced to the verge of despair when an open door attracted his attention. He peeped in.... There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered." Pickwick steps inside and has removed his clothes when another person enters the room. He conceals himself. Bad turns to worse. "Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged woman in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing her hair.... 'I never met with anything so awful as this,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing.' Uncertain how to proceed, Pickwick 'ha-hums.' "Gracious Heaven!" said the middle-aged lady, "what's that?" "It's -- it's -- only a gentleman, ma'am." "A gentleman!" said the lady, with a terrific scream. "It's all over!" thought Mr. Pickwick."
The expected complications ensue. At last, Pickwick flees, carrying his clothes and dropping his shoes. But the nightmare continues because he still can't locate his assigned chamber. Fortunately, he runs into his servant, Mr. Samuel Weller, who escorts him back home.
Clearly, Mr. Pickwick is directionally disabled.
Am I the only directionally-challenged person for whom Pickwick's story is a horrible fear. I've had repeated nightmares of exactly this complexion. In fact, I've dreamed this very dream dozens, perhaps scores of times. I check into a hotel, go for a walk in a strange city and then, for some reason, the elevator doesn't go to my floor, or the staircase comes to a sudden end, or the room numbers go from 401 to 405 when I know that my room is 403. I wander endlessly until I wake up in a sweat, heart pounding.
And now I have to admit that I once narrowly dodged this embarrassment. In real life. I was staying at a bed-and-breakfast somewhere in the west of Ireland. There was no private bathroom -- the facilities were down the hall and a half a flight downstairs. In the middle of the night, after obeying a call of nature, attempting to return to my room, I stepped into a room that was not mine. I was just about to get into bed with a strange party when I realized my predicament. Fortunately, I was able to escape without waking anyone. I found my own room (good thing there were only two to a floor) but I was in quite a state for an hour or so.
As I'm writing this, I'm guessing that most of my readers will harrumph their feelings of superiority. "Couldn't happen to me." My directionally dyslexic friends, however, will understand. And they will also know why I sympathize and empathize with poor Pickwick.
Thank You a thousand times over!!
I'm not alone in this humiliating and often crippling disorder! I am severe in this even getting out of the doctors exam room is troubling. I always go the wrong wasy thinking certainly I've remembered this time..but..the pictures On the wall I use as guides have been moved..
Posted by: Laura | July 26, 2014 at 07:00 AM
I have also been searching for support on this for years, around 50. No doctor was ever able to tell me what it is, although I was diagnosed with dyslexia, adhd, epilepsy and maybe more when I was under 10. Please advise on resources.
Posted by: Dan Beane | February 12, 2013 at 11:08 AM
It can be hard; I've been offered lucrative sales jobs that would require driving around, and I've had to admit to myself that I simply couldn't perform those jobs competently and turn them down. It *is* hard, and it *is* a disability. But not everybody can do everything -- I can't have a job that involves lots of self-directed travel. Somebody in a wheelchair can't be a waiter. A dyslexic isn't likely to be a book editor. Acknowledgment of our limitations is in some ways liberating... there's so much stuff we *can* do.
Posted by: Amy | January 17, 2011 at 08:43 AM
I know to some people this is a laughing matter. But i am having a hard time with this disibility . at work i am being made out to be a fool .Ihave panic attacks when i get lost. and it makes it worse to get where i am going. my job requires me to drive to different locations every day.Igot me a GPS it does not always work.Ineed to find out do i have any rights I feel like i am being discrimanated against because of this.
Posted by: dbrittain | January 11, 2011 at 11:43 PM
I remember identifying with that passage when I read Pickwick a hundred and twenty-six years ago -- and I've walked into rooms not my own on a couple of occasions.
It's curious to me that this thing has never been investigated clinically; seems like a bunch of us should band together and demand functional MRIs and a theory, but banding together would require locating one another, a requirement that might explain the lack of support groups for our malady.
Thanks for pointing this out. I'm entertained.
Posted by: Amy | January 08, 2011 at 01:33 PM