Don't know nothin' 'bout geography, apparently

Is it cruel to make fun of someone's dearth of geographical knowledge? Perhaps. But has a little thing like a conscience ever stopped me from a quick chortle (or even a long, loud guffaw) at someone else's expense? Mmmm, probably not. As a German Austin Powers might proclaim, "Ist schadenfreudelic, baby!"

It was with quite a bit of surprise and a not inconsiderable amount of good behavior that I greeted the following statement from a woman sitting next to me on the return trip from California the other day. Thirty minutes after take-off from Atlanta on our way home to Pennsylvania, looking out the window at the mountains below, she asked me, "Are those the Rockies?"

An innocent if not quite respectable question. But of course even basic geographical knowledge would inform you that the Rockies do not lie between the Peach State and the Keystone State. There are certainly mountains in the area, from Georgia north through Pennsylvania and the Northeast and on into Quebec. They go by many names as they span the eastern side of the continent--the Smokies, the Blue Ridge, the Appalachians, the Poconos, the Catskills, the Adirondacks, the Greens, and the Laurentians, and probably others.

With all those choices, I'll grant that deciding what to call those mountains that run up the Eastern backbone of the country can be a little daunting. But the Rockies, sweetie? No, those aren't the Rockies. If you had paid attention when they used to teach geography in the schools (do they still? or has it gone the way of lessons on citizenship?), you'd now be familiar with the map of the United States and, thus, would now be clued into the fact that the Rockies are a few hours west by plane from Atlanta and have a very different appearance from the Smokies and Appalachians. Sister, are you sure you're on the right plane? Instead of Harrisburg, did you mean to board the Boeing for Honolulu?

I was polite and explained no, those weren't the Rockies. I did not laugh nor did I make my fellow traveler feel foolish or awkward for her question, even though I was thinking, hmmm, you might should feel a little foolish and awkward over that inquiry. But then, a day without my making a fool outta myself is like a day with a rabidly anti-gay former beauty queen trading on her precarious fame to shill orange juice to the masses. Really, really bad.

Later, while at lunch with my friend NoRella, we enjoyed a little chuckle, however, and riffed a few silly/snarky comeback lines over the moment, which are generously and loosely paraphrased below.

"Nah, those aren't the Rockies--those are the Alps! Look over yonder! There's the Von Trapp family escaping to Switzerland over the Matterhorn! Somebody get me a gun--I'll pick off Rolf the Nazi boy faster than you can say edelweiss! So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye, punk!"

Or maybe . . .

"The Rockies? No, those are the Himalayas. [Pointing to Grandfather Mountain] See Mount Everest over there? Say, is that a Bollywood musical being shot down below? Why, yes, yes it is. [Pointing to where Mildred the Bear should be] Woah--look out! There's a yeti about to attack Aishwarya Rai and Aamir Khan during their dancing-singing love spectacular!"

Or even . . .

"Why, look, it's the Andes. Now how did they get there? [Pointing toward Biltmore Estate in Asheville, N.C.] Hey ho, what luck! We're just in time to join the tourists for the daily ceremonial excoriation at Machu Picchu!"*

I guess I forgot to add "being a kinder person/suffering fools more easily" to my list of new year's resolutions.

As if.

*Yes, I know the Incas didn't do human sacrifices. It's called comedic license, allegedly. Allegedly, because you have to be funny to use take such license. Alas, I fear I've been revoked this go 'round . . . .