Oh for the simpler days of a DeLorme Atlas and a highlighter. Instead there I was in a 29 foot RV traveling the country with my family and an interloper—Irene, our GPS navigation system.
Irene was a small box with a large database capable of both locating her own current position, which conveniently is your position too if she is with you, and directing you to numerous points of interest and addresses throughout the United States. She had an unnervingly calm demeanor when speaking; yes she talked. For instance, Irene’s insidiously calm utterance “take next left” after we had ignored her 3 previous “take next left” suggestions, got under my skin. How could she stay so calm when we were blatantly ignoring her directions?! She never got ruffled; she never raised her voice.
She may sound like the ideal driving buddy, but don’t be fooled. She often gave vague suggestions. She had no idea how large our vehicle was and would blithely offer “U-turn ahead” whenever she deemed that we had made an error in judgment in our choice of routes. Somehow making a U turn while slogging up the narrow coast road in the rain driving a 29 foot RV didn’t seem practical, at least not to me. My husband, on the other hand, relished Irene’s challenges; she bolstered his masculine ego. She took advantage of her allure and frequently, after I had clearly told the driver, my husband, to go straight ahead, Irene would calmly utter, ‘turn left in 500 feet.’
You see, I didn’t have a list of every Dunkin’ Donuts across the country. She had the capacity to entice my husband with a selection of countless coffee shop options literally at his fingertips. I think she actually savored having my husband’s undivided attention while ushering him through construction in rush hour traffic.
Yes I suppose there were some moments when I appreciated her guidance; even enjoyed her companionship. When I was too tired to find the directions to the campground I would just close my eyes and let Irene pipe up, “take next exit right in 2 miles.”
So we had an ambivalent relationship—or rather I had ambivalent feelings toward her; she didn’t even know I existed. I sat quietly while she got us back on the highway from a maze of city streets, but later, when she was lulled into a false sense of pride, I piped up, “take next exit and don’t merge in .2 miles. We’re taking the scenic route,” and muted Irene. And of course, when we returned home after nearly 10,000 miles, she was the one put back in the box.
1 comment :
I hear a rumor that she was so despondent to be put in a box that she, well, she short circuited herself.
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