I used to be directionally savvy.
Then came the advent of the GPS. Suddenly, I rely on that little black box to direct me as if God himself moseyed on down from the Heavens and steered my car for me.
While I was running errands one day, my usual exit ramp off the highway was closed. I huffed and puffed and felt the instant surge of anxiety rush through my body as if I hadn't lived in this geographic vicinity my entire life.
Ahh! Alas, while sitting in traffic I remembered my trusty rectangular friend resting in his comfy glove compartment confines. I turned him on, set my destination…
And then this happened…
WHAT?!…what in the shit am I supposed to do now? What does this mean? Has the robotic voice from Hell turned on me like a cheetah on an unsuspecting gazelle? I TRUSTED YOU. I will never know the origins of the expletives that came out of my mouth at that moment. It was clear to me that I would be forever lost on side streets and never find my way home. I would live off the land and beg the villagers to take me in after the gnomes in the woods tried to capture me and burn me at the stake and and and…wait.
Once I made a slight right and recognized my surroundings, I calmed down. As if I had battered my GPS, I began perpetuating the cycle of violence and apologized profusely. Do I not call enough? I stopped sending flowers. I’ll never do it again! It's not you, it's me.
Gerry and I (Yes, I've since named him) are now on good terms. But I give him a suspicious glare every now and then, waiting for him to take his revenge and make me, god forbid, read a map.
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