Tourists are a fact of life for small town America. If you live in a small town, they inevitably find you because they read a story in the Washington Post or New York times about the bucolic setting, quaint B&Bs, and fine dining. They do not, however, bother to do their homework before setting out. This can result in rather amusing situations.
Today, on my way home from the post office, I came upon a carload--nay, SUV-load--of tourists from Virginia. These poor unfortunates were sitting at the stop sign at the corner of my street, pouring over a map and looking belwildered. I stopped, rolled down the window and mouthed "Are you lost?"
The driver was wary and only rolled her window down about a quarter of the way before saying, "We're looking for Antietam Battlefield...?"
"Oh?" I replied. "Why, you're in the wrong state! You'll be wanting Maryland, which is that way, across the river."
And then I gave them directions to Sharpsburg, which I hope they manage to follow.
When I reached the front door, I burst into giggles and said to myself, "Tourists...."