No Map for This.

Jess took the gig through Seamless Journeys to make some extra cash—paid travel companion to an older woman on a two-week European trip. She pictured quiet museums, early dinners, and maybe knitting.

Enter: Mrs. Thelma Lane. Age 72. Red sunglasses. Gold sneakers. No chill.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Thelma said at the airport. “I need a partner-in-crime. Can you handle that, cupcake?”

Jess didn’t know what she was in for.

By day two, they’d crashed a cooking class in Rome (“They needed help with the wine”), raced rickshaws in Barcelona (“I tipped the guy extra to go faster”), and talked their way into a backstage tour at an opera house—Thelma claimed to be a retired soprano. She was not.

Jess kept up, barely. She started calling it “chaotic elegance.” Thelma just called it Tuesday.

In between wild stories and gelato-fueled detours, they talked—about life, regrets, love, and why you should always, always travel with red lipstick and duct tape.

On their last night in Lisbon, Thelma handed Jess a postcard. It said: “You’re not just good at this. You’re built for it.”

Jess tucked it into her journal, already wondering where they'd go next.