I’m not what you would call an early adopter of new technology. I was still using an old “flip phone” 10 years after the original iPhone was released. And for finding my way around while driving, I’m still using a 10-year-old Garmin GPS that plugs into the car’s cigarette lighter and has a beanbag base so it can sit on top of my dashboard. I never graduated to using my iPhone as a GPS for mapping out my trips.
I mainly use my Garmin GPS to show me what direction I’m going on the map. It’s also handy for letting me know the names of the upcoming cross street long before I can actually read the street sign. But lately, I’ve noticed it isn’t all that reliable for giving me turn-by-turn directions to a specific address. Here’s an example.
When I’m back in California, I drive a 15-year-old Honda CR-V. Like most cars of that age, the clear plastic lenses covering the headlights tend to cloud over. I suppose it’s like the automotive equivalent of cataracts. Funny how none of my previous cars ever needed to visit an optometrist. It has only been since manufacturers began using space-age plastics that cars suffered from this affliction. Those materials may work on the Mars rover, but they apparently are no match for Los Angeles smog. At any rate, I decided my car needed cataract surgery.
My regular mechanic gave me the address of an auto glass repair shop that specialized in buffing and polishing the clouded plastic lenses until they looked clear as new. I wasn’t familiar with the neighborhood where this shop was located, so I decided I would use the address-finding feature of my old Garmin GPS. First, it asked me for the address number. Then it asked for the street name. That was all. It never bothered asking for the city, state or zip code. That kind of worried me. I had no idea if my destination would end up in Orange County, California, or Orange County, Florida. The only way to find out was to follow the turn-by-turn instructions of a lady with a charming English accent.
At some point during all those twists and turns, my GPS slid off the dashboard and crashed onto the floor where it separated from the beanbag base. After struggling to pick it up and reconnect it to the base, I was surprised to see it was still displaying the correct map, and the lady was still politely spouting off instructions. So, I put it back on the dashboard and continued my quest.
I finally wound up driving on Placentia Avenue, the street where the shop was located. From there, it should have been a simple matter of driving straight until I reached the correct address. But, for some reason, that charming English lady told me to turn off Placentia Avenue onto a minor side street. After a few more turns and a few more miles I began to wonder if maybe her Artificially Intelligent noggin had suffered a concussion when my GPS hit the floor. I decided to just keep following her instructions and see where they might lead.
When I was deep within some residential neighborhood, in front of a nondescript bungalow, the lady said, “Arriving at your destination – Latitude: 33 degrees 42 minutes North, and Longitude: 117 degrees 55 minutes West.”
I have no idea how that happened. Maybe I accidentally changed my destination while fumbling to reconnect the touch screen to the beanbag. It definitely wasn’t intentional. I was never any good at calculating latitude and longitude, even back when I was taking an ocean navigation course. On the final exam, my calculated position was off by a couple of light years.
But worse yet, I still hadn’t found the auto shop I was looking for. When I called the shop’s phone number to get directions, the owner asked me, “Where are you now?” I couldn’t resist telling him “Latitude: 33 degrees 42 minutes North, and Longitude: 117 degrees 55 minutes West.” He wasn’t amused. He probably flunked the same course I did.
After telling him the names of my nearest cross streets, the owner managed to direct me to his shop. They did an excellent job of clearing up my headlight lenses. I thought I’d celebrate by having a cappuccino before heading home. But rather than risk relying on that brain-damaged English woman to find the nearest Starbucks, I decided to try using the GPS app on my iPhone. Oddly enough, it also had an English woman’s voice. Thank heavens, this one managed to get me to a Starbucks without any mysterious detours. No latitude. No longitude. I guess that’s why everybody is now using their cell phones for this purpose.
But after I finished my cappuccino and started to drive home, the lady kept chiming in with instructions that would take me right back to that Starbucks. It’s as if she didn’t remember we had just been there. Block after block she would say “At the next opportunity, make a U-turn.” She wouldn’t shut up. In desperation, I tried using the standard method of solving all computer problems. I turned it off and then turned it back on. But there she was again, still trying to send me back to that Starbucks. Fortunately, when I got home, my daughter explained that I needed to scroll down to the bottom of the map screen and click on the button labeled “End Route.” Otherwise, that lady would still be telling me to make a U-turn.
Oh, in case you’re wondering, everyone was impressed with my car’s crystal-clear headlight lenses. They said mine now looks like a new car. I was beginning to believe them until a few days later when I found a business card tucked under my windshield wiper. It said, “WE BUY JUNK CARS.” Do you suppose they’d buy my old clunker Garmin GPS?
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