My GPS Has A Different Accent Than Yours

I have a GPS in my car.  I got it because there is no GPS in my head.  There is not even a G.  There is nothing in whatever spot is supposed to hold some sense of direction.  I would like to think that space is taken up by impeccable taste.  But impeccable taste has never gotten me from Point A to Point B.  I have many stories to tell about what happens to me when I try to get from Point A to Point B without the aid of a GPS, a gas station attendant, a random person on the street, or a cell phone.  Sometimes, all four items are utilized.  But I digress. 

The system my GPS uses is the same as the one Mapquest uses.  This involves some kind of satellite up in space that knows where I am and will guide me to where I want to go. There is allegedly something else up there that does exactly the same thing, but the GPS Sattellite doesn’t have a lot of churches devoted to it like the other one. 

Because I am in real estate, and I am well aware of the fascinating places Mapquest has taken me over the years, I should have been prepared for the consequences.  I wasn’t.  On a trip to my aunt who lives north of Philadelphia, I was directed to leave the highway 34 miles before the actual city of Philadelphia.  I wove my way around about 50 suburban neighborhoods, conviced it was actually a shortcut.  I was taken into the city via suburban roads, then entered the city itself via the smallest streets possible, following trolley tracks for miles, taking routes that I normally would have chosen to take only if I were unconcious and tied up in the back seat and someone else were driving.  I could have sworn that I had inadvertantly pushed the button that said “Most Use of Bars” instead of “Most Use of Highways.” 

The Lady Who Lives in My GPS is very nice, but, like the people on the Technical Support Desk who I call regularly, she sometimes loses patience with me. If I ignore her, she will issue the same exact instruction is a louder voice.  I am not making this up.  She will do it a third time (even louder).  If I am still defying her, she will go silent on me.  To my knowledge, I have the only passive aggressive GPS Person I know of. She will only resume talking to me if I apologize.  A friend of mine has a man in his GPS, a man with an English accent.  He isn’t passive aggressive at all.

She will often tell me to make a right turn and then, after I do, she will tell me to make a U turn.  She will ask me to make left turns on big, interstate highways.  She will issue a scary warning like “Move to the left to avoid the area closed to vehicular traffic” when all I see is the road and cars and everything seems to be just hunky dory (I have always wanted to write the phrase “hunky dory.” Thanks for reading it.).  The first time she did that, I spent about ten minutes trying to find a closed lane but I couldn’t.  And lastly, she will chirp “You have arrived!” when I am still en route.  I am afraid to tell her I haven’t technically arrived because I feel like she is doing the best she can do and I don’t want to let her down. 

For now, my GPS Lady is what (who) I have and I am committed to her, until something better comes along (Don’t tell her I said that, please).  I will await the next technological innovation from the Folks Who Bring Us Technological Innovations Faster Than We Can Learn To Use Them and I will jump on it.  For now, I will use her and all the other aids at my disposal.  My trump card is always that I am a kind, inoffensive, obviously older woman who I believe anyone would want to help.  Oh, yes, I also have impeccable taste. That should count for something.

 

Tagged: baby boomer, baby boomers, boomers, car, commentary, direction, GPS, humor, observation, satire, travel, women of a certain age, women over 50

Posted in: baby boomers, boomer humor, boomers, commentary, humor, mishaps, navigation, satire, travel