Trust the Tech

Trust the technology. That’s all you hear when something new comes out. “Trust the technology” can make your life easier.

I’m a map kind of guy. Squinting at small print on paper is a thing I kind of dig. I don’t normally use them for planning. I use them to figure out where I’m at when hopelessly lost.

I’m all about personal growth, so I decided to use GPS to travel. It’s a well established technology that all of the sissies that can’t read maps have used for years.

I found GPS to be pretty cool and effective. I only had to type my destination in my phone and it did the rest. It even had a pleasant female voice telling me what to do. It was kind of like a wife but in a good mood. You know what I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard rumors of a wife in a good mood. Let’s call her Trixie.

So we took off and followed Trixie for a long time. She was nice, I was nice, and everything was nice. Then it went badly and stayed that way.
I was deep in Missouri and spied something interesting near our path. I veered away, and Trixie said, “Make a u-turn in 200 feet”. I didn’t. Trixie re-calculated, instructed me to turn around, and I again ignored her.

I’ve never thought a computer could get angry, but Trixie definitely did just that. She became loud and venomous. My response was what any good married man aspires to do. I turned her off. I later learned that was a mistake.

We traveled a long time on the open road without the help of Trixie. Figuring I needed help getting through Baton Rouge, I opened the GPS program and entered the address of our destination, which was in New Orleans.

We were traveling at the advertised speed on I-10 when Trixie spoke up in what seemed to be a soothing, almost seductive voice. “Exit in 200 feet” she crooned. I complied, though it didn’t make sense. “Turn left” Trixie said. I turned and I thought the phone giggled. As I drove the street got narrower and rougher. The neighborhood has cars on blocks and lots of gang graffiti. I swore a little and wondered if my will was updated.

After a few miles and several brushes with death Trixie sent us back to the interstate. My wife and I looked at each other and shared an unspoken, “What was that?”

Trixie stayed on and happy. We made good time to New Orleans. Trixie started instructing us to the RV Park. Her instructions didn’t seem to jive with what I remembered from the map but I played along.

The neighborhood began mimicking the one we’d seen in Baton Rouge. We wedged the RV between fetid canals and dozing winos. Finally, Trixie announced we were at our destination.

Trixie took us to a run-of-the-mill, post- apocalyptic toxic waste dump. Smart money would bet that it was never an RV park.
Trixie definitely laughed.

Using map, compass, and luck we eventually found our RV Park. We were still a little shaken over our close call, but we calmed down eventually and even got a little sleep.

The next day was sunny with the promise of new adventures. We set out for the French Quarter and naively turned Trixie on.

I was pretty sure we were going the wrong way, but for some stupid reason I followed Trixie. We ended up facing a levee. She chuckled. I turned around and Trixie recomputed her instructions. She directed me and viola, another levee, and another and another levee. The GPS was laughing out loud now. I know, it sounds impossible but I heard it. So did my wife.

I finally gave up and parked the truck in the middle of the street near a large wino.

Eventually a mail man came up and peered in my window. He had a bemused look on his face. I pulled myself out of my depression enough to ask how to get to the French Quarter. His instruction revealed we were many miles away from it.

We eventually got there. We left the GPS off for the remainder of the trip. I don’t think I’ll ever turn it on again.

What’s the moral of the story? Trust your technology unless you’ve made it mad. If you have, you’d better get rid of it. It may send you over a cliff. I’m sure it’ll laugh when it does.

Fini.