My GPS Girl
I admit it. My romances with the GPSs in my life have been shortlived. Within the last six months, I have been through four. My first GPS was a beauty. She came with all the bells and whistles and a price tag to match. Then, one day she vanished from my car. Gone. Vamoose. Had she fled or been abducted? Was she annoyed that I had not been a good listener? That I would ignore her instuctions and make a last-minute detour to the wine store only to have her say, “Recalculating”? She spoke that word a lot but she never sounded annoyed. I’m so sorry GPS Girl number one.
GPS Girl number two was a gift from a friend who had heard my sad tale of loss. “Here you go”, she said. “She’s all yours.” Well, I don’t know what went wrong between us, but 48 hours later, she too was gone from the car. My friend was speechless – perhaps a bit suspicious even about my treatment of her.
GPS number three came into my life right before a roadtrip east. We hardly had time to get acquainted before I put her to work. Then, something happened. Travelling through Quebec, I could no longer understand her. It was clear she didn’t understand French. She mangled French street names so badly I was ready to weep. I drove as fast as I could to get out of La Belle Province. In New Brunswick, she returned to her senses. Her self-confidence returned. Then, all of a sudden, she became ill. Her voice stopped and her screen turned to black.
GPS number four is a modest little beauty from the Canadian Tire in Amherst, Nova Scotia. Nothing to write home about, but loyal. In return, I promise to protect her and keep her safe from harm. I hope this Maritime baby and I have a long life together.