Phil Riddle
editor@weatherforddemocrat.com
I am usually among the last to try any new technology.
It’s not that I don’t like new things, I just don’t keep up well.
I love my touch-screen cell phone and my mp3 player, but I was late acquiring them, too.
I was still searching for storage for my 8-track collection when CDs began to appear on the market.
My Betamax VCR was on its last legs when DVDs became the medium of choice for movie rentals.
And to me, Facebook, MySpace and Twitter are simply new ways for bored people to share their lack of fulfillment with the rest of the world.
So, until last weekend, I was among the few uninitiated to the use of the global positioning system.
A GPS, as most already know, combines satellite and computer technologies to not only tell you where you are, but how to get to anywhere else in the world.
Simply punch in the address you are starting from and the place you want to go and a pleasant voice will guide you through turn-by-turn directions until you calmly arrive at your destination.
There are GPS devices that can tell you the distance to the pin from your ball on a golf course. What it cannot do, however, is predict exactly how far I can slice into the rough, how many people in my foursome will groan at the thought of having to wait for me to search for my ball after the aforementioned slice, or how many newly created combinations of cuss words will be spewed after slamming my club head into the ground.
But I digress.
Over the holiday weekend I was offered the use of a portable GPS device. At first I refused the offer. I already had something which told me how to drive — my wife. But we plugged the GPS into the cigarette lighter and off we went.
We took off from a suburb of a large Texas city, one with which we were not too familiar, trusting the GPS to get us to our downtown hotel in a timely manner.
“Go 800 yards and turn left,” our trusty technological buddy said.
Easy enough. There were not that many places to turn left, so when we came to a light, I signalled and moved to the left.
This was going to be a snap.
My GPS friend remained silent. Unlike my other driving tutor, silence is a good thing.
As we moved closer to our destination, the directions became harder to understand, almost like the GPS was seeing how far he could push me.
“Go 44 yards and stop. Get out of the car and make a noise like a chicken. Get back in the car and go 500 yards and wave everyone behind you to go around.”
I was losing my temper.
“Stay left,” he said as I eased southbound onto Interstate 35.
“OK,” I said, maintaining my position in the leftmost lane of bumper-to-bumper traffic.
“Stay left,” he repeated, this time more urgently.
“I am left,” I said defensively, passing an exit as I argued with my borrowed GPS.
“STAY LEFT, you idiot,” I’m sure I heard him say, followed by “Great. Now you’re going to have to find a place to turn around. Why did you even ask for my help if you aren’t going to listen to me ... ?”
I had to check to see if my wife’s lips were moving as my GPS was speaking. I even asked her to drink a sip of water while I was getting directions. I’m not certain, but I may have heard a gurgle.
But, it was useless to argue.
For one thing, I am pretty sure the GPS is an inanimate object.
On the other hand, he, or she, was right.
