cinq.

For the non-confrontational misanthrope, the smallest act of rebellion is giving someone the wrong directions purposefully. Nothing makes one with a hatred of humanity feel better than knowing that if his fellow human unable to reach their destination, it is because of the wrong directions they gave.

I am guilty of such pleasure. I cannot enumerate the amount of times I have purposefully given a person the wrong directions simply for my own psychological amusement. Though I may not know for certain if they will take my directions exactly as described, the idea that there is a possibility they will get lost as a result of doing so makes me smile in joy.

One specific incident comes to mind. I had been waiting for the bus to take me back home after a couple of hours of running errands when a gentleman in his mid thirties approaches me with a confused look on his face. I immediately identified him as being a non-tourist who happened to possibly be from outside the GTA. Looking around, perplexed by his surroundings, he approaches me with apprehension.

“I was told I needed to take a bus going away from the Yonge-Sheppart station. Does this bus go to Young-Sheppard station?” he asks.

“Nope, no it doesn't sir.” I reply confidently. Little did he know he would rue the day he asked me for directions.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, no problem. None at all!” I’m smiling inside my head right about now.

Eventually the bus arrives going to Yonge-Sheppard station and we both get on. The gentleman makes an effort to sit close to me I would assume in case he needed any more guidance. I treat this act with a grain of salt. I calmly sit in front of him and smile politely.

The gentleman looks around uneasily as if their body can feel it’s traveling the wrong way as their brain refuses to listen. After all, I did tell him that he was on the right bus. Why would I lie for? He begins to look at me in confusion as I greet his confused eyes with a smile.

I make sure to get off before he realizes I’ve led him astray. By the time he has noticed, I’m already halfway home and have received my psychological pleasure. I play in my mind continuously the possibility this individual is lost in the GTA and has simultaneously used their last token, ticket or two seventy-five.

Yes, these little things provide me with much psychological pleasure. I feel no guilt about the incident whatsoever; okay, I just lied - I do have some guilt: I should of made my directions more complex.