There's a billboard near a freeway on-ramp in Michigan with a picture of Jesus that says, "Are you on the right road?"
My Uncle Brian sarcastically feigns suprise and confusion, "What? Isn't this I-75 North?"
I have flown out of so many airports across the country, I'm quite sure I could find each and every one of them without a savior billboard. Eventually. Unfortunately, my internal clock runs on beach time and that pesky compass of mine is broken. I did break my four year streak of missing every flight booked, but just barely, pulling up at the gate with twenty-two minutes to spare.
After I arrived in Tucson, the gentleman at Hertz asked if I had a car preference. I told him anything American would be fine, but when he couldn't find any keys, he upgraded my rental car to a new, red, convertible Mustang with Sirius Satellite radio at no extra cost. Does it get any better than that?