Karen DeBonis
You know those lab rats that run through mazes? Well, if I ever got reincarnated as one of them, I’d be in deep rat doo-doo.
I couldn’t find my out of a paper bag if it came with neon EXIT signs. And all the technology in the world often doesn’t help.
Recently when I got horribly lost, my adult son told me it was because I was using Apple maps on my phone rather than Goggle maps.
“Well, it says maps,” I said, showing him the app. “How do I know if it’s Apple or Google?”
He took my phone, swiped to the next screen and showed me the big “G,” under which it says “Google maps.”
So now I use the big G, even though I have built-in navigation in my car. When I bought my car, I thought it was imperative to have this feature, given my, y’know, limitations. But “Navi” mispronounces street names, and if I don’t listen to her, she purposefully gets me more lost. I don’t like Navi.
Last week, I had to attend a wake, so I put the address in G and we headed out. After a few blocks, however, I realized that G wasn’t talking to me. At every red light, I fished out my glasses, poked at him and tried to make him talk. What, you’re holding out for beer and cigarettes?, I thought.
Finally, I pulled over into a parking lot. Still not talking, G was now stuck on rerouting me. Apparently he didn’t know where I was.
Hello?? It’s your job to know where I am. You’re supposed to be smarter than Apple, remember?
I decided to give the address to Navi. It was her chance to repair our relationship. Then I realized I didn’t have the address. G had it, but at that point he was spinning his little wheels like a lost lab rat. I searched Navi’s points of interest, but I guess she doesn’t think people get lost going to wakes because no funeral homes came up.
Then I realized I could ask Siri.
“Ha,” I told G and Navi outloud, “I don’t need you anyway.”
But it was a conspiracy. Siri told me I was no longer a hotspot and couldn’t get internet access.
What?? Don’t tell me I’m no longer a hotspot!
So there I was, in a parking lot in the freezing February rain, beaten into submission by a trio of virtual pranksters.
Looking up, I pleaded silently, God, I’m really trying to do a good thing here. But God must not have been in a hotspot either, because He didn’t answer.
Reluctantly, I called my husband at work for directions. He’s used to the routine, and lucky for me, picked up on the first ring. Maybe God was in a hotspot after all.
Coming back from the funeral home, I didn’t bother hitting “home” on Navi or G, as all I had to do was make one left turn and I would know where I was. I made a phone call using my Bluetooth as I pulled away. I got my friend’s voicemail, and here’s what she heard:
“Hi Peggy. I’m just leaving the funeral home, so you can call me back any … Oh shit, am I going the wrong way? Peggy, hold on a sec. (Mumbling) What the hell street is this? Peggy, I think I’m lost. (Under my breath) Oh my god, I can’t believe … Peggy, I’ll have to call you back.”
So much for conspiracy theories. It’s all just me.