By Tracy Williams, Syndicated columnist
The Picayune Item
PICAYUNE — In the olden days, husbands and wives navigated the highways and byways of America via the old fashion Atlas map system. The highly skilled map reader would sit in the passenger seat and interpret the planned route from a humongous, colorful geographical puzzle along with being a precision road sign-spotter thereby keeping the driver less stressed ready to anticipate turns or exits.
This teamwork would allow the driver to concentrate on his driving to keep the family safe. As the destination was reached, the happy family would exit the vehicle, on time, peaceful and the sun would always shine.
At least that is how it works in a perfect world.
Reality paints a different picture. Those were the days of marital confrontation. The driver would almost always make the assumption, out loud, that the navigator could not read a map while the passenger commented on the wild and reckless driving that prevented the map reader from risking a look down at the map. No one knew where they were going nor could they agree how not to get there!
Those were the days the family arrived; disheveled, wide eyed from fear, late, and not sure if they were even in the right place. Oh, and it was probably raining. The marital bliss was gone and replaced by accusatory looks. You’ve probably seen those before.
The hope was that the marriage could survive a road trip. Note: for any would-be-engaged, dreamy-eyed delusional lovers, forget marriage counseling with a minister! Take a road trip together and that is the best barometer if you will make it as a couple.
Although, that was yesteryear. Times have changed. The technology that has driven your children into an internal world forever has finally brought us a gadget that prevents road rage within the confines of your vehicle upon the highways. Now that the prices are falling, many households now own one — the GPS — whether it’s a Tom Tom or a Garmin or a generic version, many car owners have one.
It stands for Global Positioning System and used in an automotive it uses a satellite navigation device to acquire your position data on a map database thereby locating your position on a road. I just call it magic in a box.
Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the most lost again after all?
A voice, programmed to your taste magically tells you where to turn, when to turn, and corrects you if you are still dumb enough to miss your route. I give it another name — marriage saver!
Our little device has a name, since it is one of the family now. We call her Annette. Which is my middle name and she is christened with this name because I was the navigator before and now my namesake, has taken the pressure off of me, thereby making me a passive passenger, enjoying the view. No more drama.
My husband likes the female voice, although on a long trip with my number-two son, I had him program it to the sexy British male voice and even though he gave me kilometer terminology, it didn’t matter because I was attracted to the magic box and would have turned any where the husky, accented voice told me.
But for Annette, she speaks in a calm, unnerved voice telling us, “Exit right ahead. Turn left. Turn around when possible.” She keeps the family car in a pleasant state.
Annette is one smart girl… box.
Except, I have noticed the longer we use the GPS Annette that she does have a few flaws.
You do need to keep the device updated, but since we never follow through on many of our plans, she is still a bit behind on the map database. The S-curves in Laurel send Annette into a panic, she is confused and you can almost feel her frustration. Thankfully, we understand the reason for her melt down and travel onwards.
The problem comes when you find one of these geographical oddities in a city where you are not sure of what is going on, like in Nashville, or Orlando. Annette falls apart.
And when Annette loses it, so does the peaceful contentment in the car. Who brings an Atlas when you have Annette? Do we dare go back to the old ways where the man is forced to stop and ask for directions? Please no! Because that requires several intense miles of nagging and that is never very good for marital harmony.
When the GPS freaks out, don’t freak out along with it. If you keep driving, take a few deep breaths, the GPS will find its bearings and then you are back on track. Just like in real life with us women, just step back and wait, we will get it back together after the moment has passed, the hormone has secreted, or the sugar has burned.
My other beef with this know-it-all Annette is that she doesn’t always calculate the best route. For all her satellite connections, she is not superior to my knowledge of how to get there.
At first, my husband did not want to question the almighty Annette and her magical ways, he had full faith in that talking Jezebel. I however, figured her game out. She would send us via the faster interstate routes and ignoring minor roads of unknown speeds, thinking those routes which were closer in miles would take longer to drive. Sometimes that is true reasoning, but not always.
How do I convince the husband that I know better than Annette, the magical GPS box? It wasn’t easy. But, on one particular trip, my theory was put to the test and I am here to boast. Annette doesn’t know her way out of a shoe box! I am Queen of the roadways again.
The key to using the GPS device is to not depend upon her blindly but to have a back up plan and realize that she doesn’t fix other areas of your marriage. It will not put the toilet seat down, nor will it pick up its dirty laundry, but it will make one of the most dangerous areas of marriage a bit less “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”
These days, we pre-plan our routes via Google maps and carry an Atlas and then we plug in ol’ Annette and when she disagrees with our assumption, we push the alternate route button until she gives in. We smile, singing Kum Bah Yah, and if not for the irritating kids in the back, we would travel happily ever after. Oh, yeah, we have an answer for that too — a backseat DVD player.
Ahh, isn’t technology great!
Tracy Williams is a guest columnist and can be reached at her website: myhometowncolumn.com
