Death by GPS

To contact us Click HERE
There are two things that are rather important for an impoverished writer to have, should she want to actually  post things on the internet: a computer that does not get hot enough to fry eggs on and an internet connection. Yours Truly has neither at the moment. Fortunately, I did find a friend who has both...a month later.

I mentioned last month that I took a road trip to Kentucky with some family. One of the things I had going for me on this adventure was that my StupidPhone willingly played Pandora for the duration of the ride. The worst thing about the ride was that my ears are too small to comfortably put ear buds in. In other words, everything was pretty darn swell.

After sleeping for twelve hours the next day, my aunt, her husband, and HIS aunt invited me to go into Cincinnati with them for the afternoon. I was so excited to go that I wasn't even concerned that I had left my entire makeup bag four states away. No one knows me in Ohio, so I was safe from judgement.

Now those of us who drove to Cincinnati are all SC Natives and were solely relying on Susan, the GPS to get us where we needed to go. The downside to this is GPS's are generally only good for getting your car broken into; they suck because they assume you know that "turn right onto Lincoln Ave" means "stay put...the left lane makes a U-Turn and  you don't want to do that."

Driving on the highway is easy because you just...drive. Having to follow directions around a strange city, however, is a little more difficult and requires a little more concentration and a lot more risk-taking behavior.

Our driver...didn't really have that. The ride went a little something like this:

GPS: Drive. Point. 3. Miles. Then turn. Left. On. Exit. Four...teen.
Aunt: Okay, you're going to take a left on Exit 14.
Aunt's Husband: How do I take a left on an exit? What lane do I need to be in?
A: ...the left?
AH: I can't get over.
Me: O.o
GPS: Recalculating....recalculating...recalculating... Drive. Four. Point. Two. Miles to. Exit. Eigh...teen.
*Wait*
GPS: Drive. Three. Miles to. Exit...Eigh...teen.
*Wait*
GPS: Drive. Two. Miles to. Exit. Eigh...teen.
*Wait*
GPS: Drive. One. Miles to. Exit. Eigh...teen.
Aunt: Okay. We're taking Exit 18.
AH: Left or right?
A: I guess right. Follow the signs for 18.
AH: Well what lane do I need to be in?
*Wait*
GPS: Recalculating...recalculating...recalculating...
Me: O.<

This pattern of pleasure continued for about 45 minutes. We never made it and quite frankly, I didn't care. I was seeing spots and flashes of me choking my aunt's husband out so that I could hop in the driver's seat.

So this is the story of how a GPS almost killed someone. and by that I mean it almost drove me into a blackout-rage-stroke where I would no longer be responsible for my actions.