So. A story.

A rather scatterbrained young man is at a party in San Francisco.
He spends much of the evening talking to this really attractive, intelligent,
nice woman. She’s a usability engineer. He’s a web-guy who is forced by the
circumstances of his job to pretend he’s a usability engineer. She is
interested in ancient Western civilization. She has read up on Asperger’s
Syndrome. They have plenty to discuss.

She’s not a SF local, and she mentions she needs some guidance to find Hwy 101.
He says he has the same problem. They both laugh. SF is confusing. They ask around and
get directions for finding the freeway. Still, she sounds a bit hesitant. He promises
her that he understands the directions and that she can follow him out.

So they walk to the parking lot. She has his contact information. There is vague
talk of getting lunch. They say good night, and he gets into his battered Sentra.

He drives out into the parking lot exit. She pulls up behind him. He heads out,
turns left onto the one-way street. Drives a few blocks, stops at a traffic light.
She stops behind him — close enough that he is no longer blinded by her headlights.
All of a sudden, he can see through her windshield in his rear-view mirror.

It’s not her. It’s some forty-year-old guy who has been behind him the whole time.
He has left her back at the parking lot. He has ditched her. Casually stranded her
in an alien city.

It is a long drive home.