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.”
OK mister smarty pants, I thought.
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.