Are You Talkin’ To Me?
Dear That’s Life,
I need to have a word with my GPS. While I am not in the habit of having conversations with inanimate objects, I seem to have a love/hate relationship with that device. In an effort to remind it who’s boss, it may be time to have it out, once and for all.
I am a big believer in the human brain and in the gift of common sense that G-d has given us, in varying degrees. If the GPS tells you to take the George Washington Bridge from Long Island, it may direct you to the Major Deegan. Smarter than the average bear, however, you know that the Yanks are at home, playing a day game. Having no death wish and in the hopes of avoiding any unnecessary aggravation, you go a different route, even though the silly computer keeps trying to redirect you through the Bronx. Before you are able to instruct the GPS to plot an alternate route, it keeps instructing you to take the next left, all in an effort to right your course and return you to what it considers to be the straight and narrow. You continue to ignore it and take the road less travelled on, in this instance, because you know it will make all the difference.
It is at this point that if it had a personality, an actual brain or a hint of sarcasm that the GPS would start telling you off. Its first line might be something like, ‘Moron: I told you to take that left three blocks ago.’ Continuing on your route of choice, despite the constant redirection, the slurs and comments would continue. ‘Learning curve is over, Mr. Magoo,’ the voice will say. ‘Open your eyes, stay in your lane and exit when I tell you, too.’ Still, you stick to your guns because you know that while the GPS is one of the life’s best inventions (EZ-Pass being a close second), it was still developed by a human being and is not smarter than you are.
I imagine that my GPS mocks me when I input my home address to get out of ‘Back’ Lawrence. I needed its help for years to make my way home from Woodsburgh. I still cannot give someone directions through that area, but at least I can now get home without leaving breadcrumbs. There are sections of Lawrence, however, that are completely confusing and without the help of the computer, I would be lost there forever. Programming in my home address, I imagine the computer talking to itself. ‘Again?!’ it would ask itself. ‘She can’t get home from here, again?’ Yes, I know I only live a couple of miles away and that I can navigate my local supermarket better than parts of The Five Towns, but that is my reality.
Once my GPS was done telling me off and calling me names, it would be my chance to give it a piece of my mind. I would start by letting it know that only if I was alone on the planet, there were no traffic lights and speed limits were practical jokes could I really make it from here to Teaneck, NJ in 42 minutes. The GPS in my car does not live in real life – if it did, it would know that the Belt Parkway is more of a parking lot than parkway and that taking Broadway through Hewlett at about 3:30 pm on any given day is as stupid as driving down Central Avenue on a Friday afternoon. I would also let it know no matter how many focus groups came back and approved that voice, they were all wrong and it was still annoying. Finally, I would let it know that this is not an episode of ‘Knight Rider’ and it is not KITT. Until then, it does not really have a speaking part in my life, I will make that left turn when I feel like it and I will never take the Cross Bronx in the middle of the afternoon.
As for now, I’m on Ocean Avenue and I have no idea how to get home. I am quickly reminded of who is really in charge. Excuse me: I am supposed to make a left here.
MLW
As soon in the South Shore Standard April ’11
