“Go past this light…”
“In 200 feet…
“Turn left at the next intersection…”
This is the voice of both my savior and my nightmare.
Most of the time, the GPS – Global Positioning System – is my driving companion. Because the system is almost always on, I’ve started talking to the GPS like it’s a person.
We don’t always agree.
“I know you want me to go that way, but there’s road construction that way,” I told the GPS one afternoon. “So, we’re going to go this way.”
The GPS will pout, resign itself to going a different direction and give me updated instructions.
Sometimes the GPS is a little slow in telling me which lane to get into to make a quick turn.
That’s when I get frustrated.
“You could’ve told me earlier I was going to have to turn left,” I’ll yell as I make a Batman-style turn.
The GPS doesn’t care I had to dodge three cars to carry out the move.
I did what it said.
The electronic voice is pacified.
Sometimes the GPS is my road trip guardian angel.
“There’s traffic ahead. I’m rerouting you.”
“This route is the fastest.”
“Road construction ahead. Would you like to reroute?”
Those suggestions are gifts from the traffic gods, ones I’m always happy to accept.
There are times we disagree and both of us get a little testy.
Recently, I’d been following the GPS directions to a Houston hospital. Take 59 north, get off at Main Street, turn right and then follow the GPS directions through the medical center maze to find the building.
Usually, I follow the GPS directions turn for turn, but this day, I wanted to pick up barbecue sandwiches on Kirby Drive. I exited Highway 59, and that’s when the conversation became a little heated.
The GPS wanted me back on the route it had chosen. I didn’t want to get back in bumper-to-bumper traffic and I had barbecue to pick up.
“Take the feeder road toward I-69,” the GPS insisted.
The GPS calls Highway 59 I-69, but for those of us who’ve driven in Houston for years, 59 will always be 59.
I paid no attention to the GPS voice because I knew I was going to stop for those sandwiches. When I turned right onto Kirby, the GPS was unhappy.
“Take the feeder toward I-69.”
I talked back.
“I don’t want to stay on the feeder,” I said with a touch of annoyance. “I’m going to the barbecue place.”
When I turned into the parking lot, the GPS was really annoyed.
“Return to the feeder road toward I-69.”
I was fed up.
“Forget it,” I said to the dashboard. “I’m getting barbecue right now.”
I turned the car off and hurried into the restaurant. When I returned, you’d think the GPS would be happy as the smell of brisket and barbecue sauce filled the air. But no, the single-minded GPS system demanded that I go back to the feeder road.
I decided the ride down Bissonnet was a lot prettier, so I turned onto that street, leaving 59 in my rearview mirror.
“Make a U-turn.”
I ignored the voice.
“Make a U-turn.”
At every single stop sign and light for the next mile, the GPS wanted me to make a U-turn and get back on the freeway. The trip became a battle of wits – the GPS voice versus the human who had the keys to the vehicle.
Finally, the GPS gave up and got with my program. When we got to the hospital 15 minutes earlier than the original trip the GPS planned, I smiled.
“See there smarty pants,” I yelled at the dashboard. “Sometimes we humans know better than technology.”
I wasn’t so smug on the way home when I went the way I wanted instead of what the GPS suggested and ran smack dab into a huge traffic jam.
I could almost hear the gloating “I told you so” coming from the dashboard.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.