Sometimes, the internet is wrong

Which I learned today, when I walked down a quiet Brooklyn street and rang the doorbell of an unassuming brownstone. A heavy-set bespectacled man wearing paint-splattered khakis laboriously opened the door.

He doesn’t look quite like a yoga instructor, I thought to myself.

“Hi, uh, is there a 12 o’clock yoga class here today?”

He laughed. Not hard, but in a situation like this, a laugh is a laugh. “Nope, hasn’t been yoga here for years. Sorry.”

“Oh, ok, thanks, no problem. Thanks. Bye.”

Aside from the awkward/mildly embarrassing encounter and the waste of my time (though, really, I had nothing else to do, so this is a minor point), I find myself mostly confounded by my unquestioning loyalty to the internet.

I Googled “Yoga Bushwick”, looked through all the entries on the first page, found one that had a class during the timeframe I was looking for, Google mapped the address and directions from my apartment, and set an alarm ensuring I would be up in time. Never once did I stop and think “Hey, lady, maybe you should call just to make sure.” Why on earth would I do that? The internet said it, it’s true, dammit.

Well, this was a swift kick in my yoga-deprived ass. A reminder (or first introduction to the concept) that the internet is not always right.

So, with that, I now solemnly swear to remember this the next time I go frolicking around town looking for the perfect yoga studio/restaurant/bar/museum/coffee shop/theater/book store/thrift store/grocery store…

Jeez. That’s a lot of phone calls.