I'm at the National Wild Turkey Federation's convention in Nashville, where the smallest cup of coffee costs $3.50, and it takes about 3.5 seconds to get lost. Just now, returning to my room, I passed an older woman, barefoot, who looked disoriented. I asked if I could be of assistance. "I don't know," she said, in what sounded like a German accent. "I forget the number." She held up her card-style room key, which, for security reasons, doesn't have a room number on it. I understood immediately that she had just ventured out for ice or something, forgotten her room number, and was now helpless. Mine is C5150, which I've written down on various pieces of paper in my pockets.