As I write this, I am in Pasadena, Calif., for the college football national championship. I had to get a rental car and drive from Los Angeles to Pasadena.
This may come as a shock but I don’t know one thing about how to go from L.A. To Pasadena. So, I plugged in my trusty Garmin Navigational System. My wife, as a backup, pulled up her iPad system. We would have been better off trusting “shorty” at the street corner for directions.
In case you do not know, L.A. is a very big place. You can drive a quarter of a mile just changing from the outside lane to the far side lane. People here also drive relatively fast, on average, I’d say, about 90 mph.
So, here I go, entering I-5 or I-10, or I have no idea where the hell I’m going. There must be 15 lanes of traffic, each filled by either a former Formula One race car driver or a current Hell’s Angel. I quickly top out my rental car when the Garmin says, “turn left now.” I didn’t bother to tell it I was 12 lanes over on the right side. The iPad says, “go one mile and turn right.”
I don’t know about you, but I hate the smug, know-it-all lady that speaks for the Garmin. I especially hate it when she says “recalculating” every time I miss the exit she said to take that the iPad said not to take.
I soon find myself arguing with the Garmin lady. There are two people in this world that one can never argue with and win: your wife and the Garmin lady. The thought hits me: What poor slug is married to the Garmin lady? My second thought is, I am geared toward dirt roads off Old Mill Road not multi-lane, multi-national labeled interstates.
But now what to do? Trust the bitchy Garmin lady? In desperation, I go with the snotty Garmin lady, which greatly offends the iPad lady.
I’m quickly learning to hate her as well.
We finally made it to our motel feeling like I’d just gotten off the Zipper at Panama City’s old Miracle Mile. I hope the game is half as exciting.
Email T. Gamble at email@example.com.