7 Reasons to Break-Up with my GPS

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Remember the paper map? The one that had to be folded perfectly back into an accordion because your father would have a conniption fit if one tiny extra crease or fold appeared in the origami like pleats.  Remember the Trip-Tik from AAA? Millions of Americans flipped their way across the country trying to dodge the places where rubber stamp warnings indicated construction. Remember finally accepting the fact that you were lost and relenting to pulling over to inquire from strangers the best way to get to your destination. These kindly people would direct us with, “Make a left by the old Sohio station. You know, where Pa hit the that ten-point buck in 1970?” “No, I don’t know your Pa, and I have no clue what a Sohio is. I was one-year-old in 1970! I’m from out of town which is why I need effing directions, sir!”

What happened to the good old days of getting to know the streets we traveled? What happened to using our brains to get to where we were going? I miss those days. Do you?

Nowadays, I stare at a 4x6 inch talking screen mounted on my dashboard as I try to figure out where I turn, or do I really stay straight, and what is she saying? I put all of my trust into the knowledge of the woman living inside the screen who acquires her information from satellites who are run by God knows who (I’m certain it’s the Russians). 

Why do I trust her even though time and again she has attempted my murder by navigating me through cornfields deep inside rarely visited rural country as not too pleased farmers give me the evil eye from atop their combines as they shake their heads at the stupid city woman in her SUV who is clearly not using her own brains to get to where she needs to be? But, Samantha, my female navigator told me to turn there, so I did. Do you think he’ll notice if I pluck an ear of corn as I inch over the ruts and small boulders littering the “road” I am on?

About ten years ago I used to find my way around via paper map or written directions. You see, my work takes me to new places every single day. I am called to visit families in their homes. Sometimes the roads are in a city center. Sometimes they are in circular housing developments. Sometimes they are in tidally gridded suburbs. More often than not they are atop of mountains on dirt roads at the end of steep mud driveways in towns that don’t exist on any map.

I have seen a lot of scenery in the 20 years I’ve been a home visitor in rural Western Pennsylvania. The vistas are beautiful. Rolling hills. Majestic valleys. Deep green forests. Rivers and lakes. Mountain ridges. 

I’ve seen all kinds of wild life. Coyotes scampering across roads that slice the forests. Black bear families napping in trees. Deer alive and massacred on every road. Loose horses galloping down highways. Snakes slithering down roads. Hawks nearly plummeting through my sunroof. Eagles grasping large fish and snakes in their talons which I pray they don’t drop into my open sunroof.  (I really need to close that window.) A rafter of wild turkeys trying to take flight but crashing into each other and my car. I even saw a murder of crows the other day. Seriously, there was like 100 of them. That was spooky. 

I have also seen roads that no one should ever see let alone navigate. Many of these scenes and wildlife encounters would have been missed if my navigator had not taken me off the beaten path, daily.

As I a slowly traverse these dangerous roads, I pray I do not pop a tire as mobile phone service is sparse. I pray that a hunter doesn’t find me in the path of her bullet as she aims for her prized buck. I pray that agitated property owners don’t accuse me of trespassing and invoke some right to shoot my kind.

I know better than to listen to her, but Samantha is so confident and convincing. She really wants me to turn down that road. If I try to pass it by, she just repeatedly tells me to make a U-turn. If I refuse, she directs me in circles until I make my way back to where she wants me to go. I don’t want to fight with her. I don’t want to disappoint her. How do I let her know that it’s okay if I don’t take the shortest route? Sometimes the shortest route ends up taking more time. There is just no convincing her.

Despite many quarrels and misunderstandings, I continue on using my current Samantha. I divorced my original Samantha, a TomTom. I moved onto a Garmin. When I first turned her on, that unmistakable voice purred, and I knew my Samantha was not going to let me go so easily. I’m not proud to admit that I have had affairs with google maps, MapQuest, and even Waze. No matter how hard I try to break it off, I find myself back in the clutches of Samantha Garmin. She has a hold on me.

The Reasons I Need to Kick Samantha to the Curb

1. She’s rendered me stupid: I can no longer remember how to get to where I want to go. My directional skills have always been weak. Let’s face it, I still struggle knowing my right from my left, but the GPS has sucked away any hope of learning new routes and roads.
2. She takes me on dangerous dirt roads: As I said, the roads she directs me onto are narrow, windy, and unpaved.
3. She assumes I know where I am going: She has an expectation that I at least know the nearest crossroad and how to get to it. When I am in a driveway facing one direction she does not tell which direction to go to get on “the route.” She just yells over and over, “get on the route,” “get on the route.” “I don’t know how,” I cry. “That’s why I have you,” I plead.
4. She won’t take me on a detour I can use: If I request a detour, she often takes me on closed roads or routes me back to the original route too soon. She won’t recalculate for miles, wanting me to make a U-turn. Inevitably, I end up miles and miles out of my way confused, lost, and flustered
5. She mispronounces every street and city name: 1^st St. is pronounced “First Saint.” Scenery Rd is pronounced “Skenary Road.” Juneau Rd is pronounced, oh heck she doesn’t even try.
6. She doesn’t respond to me when I yell at her: I believe that a good argument depends on back and forth. When she silently takes my bashing and ridicule, I can’t help but feel like a bully. If she would just fire back a good comeback or just get mad, I would feel much better about our situation. She just persists with her “turn around when possible” mantra unfazed by my harsh words.
7. She causes distracted driving: I spend more time than I’d like to admit staring at the screen of my GPS. I am trying to change settings as I barrel down the highway at 60 MPH. I’m not proud of this behavior. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to run over some jogger on the berm. It’s not my fault she is so difficult and inflexible…. Right?

Fumbling with an accordion style map while driving might be a tad more dangerous than being distracted by my murderous and obstinate GPS. I know Samantha means well, but I must come to terms with her limitations, and mine. Perhaps I need to revert to written directions. Perhaps I need to preplan better. Perhaps I need a job that has me travelling to one location each day so that my mind can wander the old-fashioned way. Until then, I’ll just have to learn to enjoy the view from those abandoned mountain roads and learn how to change a tire, and maybe send smoke signals.