1. They have absurd names. TomTom, Garmin… these monikers sound like they could belong to Cinderella’s dopey following of mice. If I had to rely on an appliance to navigate me to my destination, I’d want it to be called “David” or “John” to reflect the persona of a no-nonsense man’s man who’s good with directions and can change a flat tire. Not a cartoon rodent with a propensity towards mischief.
2. They lose signal when you need them the most. Driving through the clusterfuck of tunnels under the city of Boston, you need an Ativan to simply NOT drive into the wall and end it all out of paralyzing anxiety. Just when you think you’re in the clear, totally squared away with your nifty GPS that will keep you on track and your sanity intact, the damn thing loses signal underground. Instead of winding up by the Garden, you’re in fucking West Roxbury. No thanks.
3. They abruptly shout at you. As the Allstate commercials accurately show us, GPS systems frequently require updates, and if you’re like any normal human being with much better things to do than update them, they fail and get lost. Yes, the very computers designed for the sole purpose of navigating you safely to your destination get you lost and then “recalculate” all over your ass, telling you to “turn left now!” directly into the side of a Taco Bell.
4. They’re passive aggressive. If your GPS gives you instructions and you so happen to ignore them upon glancing at your screen and noticing that your car avatar appears to be off-roading through what looks like a meadow, your “nav” repeats itself in a progressively louder voice until you obey it. And if you choose to go rogue? That bougie British accent gives you the silent treatment and stops talking to you altogether. If I wanted that kind of drama, I’d have a boyfriend.
5. They do not provide efficient directions. Ironic, yes, but traveling from point A to point B using “nav” is never that simple. I swear I’ve lost friends for days in the murky fog of GPS voodoo as though the thing takes secret pleasure in watching you burn through a tank of gas and call your Mom, bawling about the fact that you’re driving down Moody Street for the SEVENTH TIME. Just like I, Robot predicted they would, the machines are finally turning on us.
Bottom line is, nothing good can come of them. I could do a better job finding any given destination with a blindfold and a Braille map than using “nav.” Homegirl drove all the way across the country using nothing but good ol’-fashioned paper maps from AAA! I’ll support the convenience of most technology, but fucking TomTom isn’t one of them.