The following is a completely true story:

My best friend Brooke and I once had to go to the San Fransisco airport at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m. to catch a flight to Indiana. We were actually running ahead of schedule when we spied a Krispy Kreme truck. She shouts, "FOLLOW THAT TRUCK!" under the assumption that the truck would lead us to a Krispy Kreme. For 45 minutes, I tailgated that truck with thoughts of warm, fresh doughnuts on my mind. The truck finally pulls over to a gas station.

"Is Krispy Kreme near here?" I ask.

The driver knows we've been following him. He acts a little nervous. "Um, no. I am off work. I'm heading home. Krispy Kreme is 50 miles from here."

Nooooooooooooooooooooo!

So --obviously-- if my best friend Brooke had a helicopter, we probably be going to the Krispy Kreme headquarters in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Duh.