Road Apples
Feb. 11, 2008

When your GPS cops an attitude

By Tim Sanders

Just because I am technologically impaired, that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize some of the limitations of modern technology and warn my readers about them. What I mean by that is that while it may seem that technology inevitably serves to simplify our daily lives, that is not always the case. Sometimes, for example, rather than spending an hour strapping on your high-tech scuba gear and then crisscrossing the water in your inflatable polyurethane life raft for an additional two hours, gazing intently at your GPS fish finder, it is easier to simply look where everyone is pointing, pull off your shoes, hop into the shallow end of your swimming pool and retrieve Uncle Earl’s dentures.

But this column has nothing to do with swimming pools, scuba gear, fish finders or Uncle Earl’s dentures. I do not have any of those things. They are only metaphors, except for the GPS part. I do have an automotive GPS (which stands for Global Positioning System) which my wife got me for Christmas. I had dropped several hints about how nice it would be for us to have a little electronic device which could unscramble satellite signals and tell us exactly where we were at any given time, and direct us toward our destination. No more unfolding maps, no stopping to ask directions, none of that stuff. I knew my new toy would be the answer to all our traveling woes. Our friends who had the gadgets said there was no real trick to operating them. "A four-year-old could do it," they said. That gave me confidence.

A couple of weeks ago we had to make an emergency trip to Michigan, so we took the GPS along. We’d traveled the same route dozens of times, and we knew it by heart, but this would be my chance to road test my new GPS.

So as not to invite litigation from the good people at the Magellan Corporation, I will refer to my automotive GPS as the Flagellum. I printed the 66-page CD version of the user’s manual, replete with color photos, so that I could take it with me and not worry about running into a situation I couldn’t handle. I was no fool, after all.
Needless to say, I forgot to pack it.

So we left home. I’d tapped our destination onto the Flagellum’s touch screen. My wife was driving, and I was navigating. Actually, my little technological miracle was navigating, and I was basking in all its electronic glory.

"Turn left onto Highway 68," the lady in the Flagellum said. She had a lovely voice; soothing, almost seductive. She obviously liked me. A few yards before our turn she tinkled her little bell to indicate it was time to turn. This was the way man was meant to travel. It was so cool. I was grinning like Bob in those stupid Enzyte commercials. I felt enhanced.

The Flagellum lady led us dutifully through each and every turn, all the way through Collinsville. "Turn right onto I-59 North," she cooed. She was sleek, her screen was colorful, and she was warm to the touch. I folded my hands behind my head and leaned back. Life was good.

As we approached the exit to I-24 and Nashville, I waited for that reassuring purr telling me how much the Flagellum lady cared for me and that it was almost time to exit. Soon the exit was in sight, but my Flagellum lady remained silent. I picked the little device off the floor to see where the map screen had us located, and noticed that the active trip map was no longer on the screen, only something called a "maneuver list." I tapped the map icon, the lady said "MAP," and the map appeared. According to my calculation, the little arrow which was supposed to represent our vehicle was several miles behind us. And it wasn’t moving. I tapped the "current location" icon, and I didn’t like what I read.

"Hey, we’re still in Fort Payne, and it’s still 9 AM," I said.

"That’s silly," Marilyn replied. "We’re getting ready to exit onto I-24. We went past Fort Payne nearly 40 miles back, and it’s a quarter to ten. What’s wrong with you?"

"I believe my Flagellum lady had a stroke," I said. She has us in Fort Payne." Something was dreadfully wrong. I began tapping icons furiously.

"CANCEL ROUTE!" the lady said. Her voice was tinged with annoyance.

I tapped in our destination again, and this time she muttered something I couldn’t understand. I tapped it again, and she snarled "DETOUR!" I didn’t want a detour, I only wanted her to put us back where we belonged. Whenever I tapped the "current location" icon, we shot right back to Fort Payne. I reasoned with her, and tapped her, and tapped her again and again, all the way to Nashville, but nothing happened. When she did say something, like for example "MAIN MENU" or "BACK" or "REROUTE," she didn’t sound like the same warm, sultry lady I’d become so infatuated with back in Cherokee County. Her voice was frosty, and it was obvious she didn’t want to be bothered.

"Why don’t you put that thing up?" Marilyn said. "It’s not like we really need it."

I put my Flagellum lady into the glove compartment, occasionally taking her out and examining her carefully, tapping various icons, trying to discover the magic combination and rekindle our old flame. Nothing worked. By the time we reached Indianapolis, the Flagellum lady still had us stuck in Fort Payne, and although the sun was setting, it was still 9 AM. Without the user’s manual, there was nothing I could do.

When we finally arrived back home nearly a week later, I scoured the user’s manual, looking for the answer to the Flagellum lady and her obstinacy. She was still in Fort Payne, and wouldn’t budge. In all 66 pages, I could find no answer.

Marilyn was examining my Flagellum lady while I searched the Internet. "Hey," she said, "there’s a little tiny button on the left side of this thing that says ‘RESET.’ I wonder what that does?"

Not wishing to make the Flagellum lady explode, I didn’t push the button. Instead I researched "reset Flagellum" on the Internet, and learned that this was the little bitty, almost invisible button you were supposed to push with a straight pin when your GPS malfunctioned. I guess the user’s manual people thought that bit of information was too obvious to even mention. We tried it, and VIOLA, we were back home, our satellites were orbiting as they should, and my Flagellum lady was all warm and pleasant again.

That night I plugged my electronic miracle’s AC adapter into the wall socket beside the bed to recharge the Flagellum lady. Around 3 AM I swear I heard her say, "IT’S RESET, YOU MORON! RESET!"

Or that may have been Marilyn.

One of the things I really like about those old folding maps is that they never get snotty with you.