I don't belong in this right-turn-only lane. The light turns red and I wedge myself back towards traffic, waiting. The driver I'm butting in front of starts honking furiously. "Same to you, buddy," I think. But the honking keeps up and I finally look at the driver. He looks worried, and makes that hand-cranking gesture that means "I need to talk to you."

He calls through the open window, "I need to get to Baltimore!" Here we are, on Democracy Boulevard in Bethesda; we're not heading to Baltimore.

"The turnoff for the highway was back there a little way."

"I really don't know where I am! Do I want 270 North? 495 South? 495 East? I thought 270 North, but I wasn't sure..."

"No, 270 North is the exact opposite way! You want 495 East, then take 95 North when you get there."

"Thanks!"

"Uhhh... hey, I'm going to cut in front of you now," I said sheepishly.

"But of course!" he says, in his best "Grey Poupon" voice.

Just another day.