There's a woman across the street who keeps running up to me asking for directions to the lost state of the earthquake threat, which I've always considered to be a mere rumor, but which she vehemently declares to be an actual place where actual people live.  Myself having never met any actual people (nor any who openly declared themselves as such), my interest was understandably ignited into what could be fairly described as over-enthusiastic.   Little did I know that this seemingly harmless motivational force could incite such a catastrophic incident of disorientation, not at all unlike that which is caused by a full bladder, when the situation deprives one of those porcelain fixtures memory recalls with such fondness.  Upon finding myself in such a high state of confusion, I did the only logical thing that came to mind and quickly excused myself, turning down drink after drink as I made my way to the door.  Upon exiting I was joyfully reunited with someone I affectionately remembered as a companion with whom I had known myself.  It was such a happy occasion that my misunderstanding of the situation did not introduce itself to me until a much later date.  We spent the remainder of that evening reminiscing about the past, which, it turns out, is not all that different from the present.