Misery loves company
I may have mentioned a time or two that I am navigationally-challenged. That is the politically correct way of saying that I am a moron when it comes to directions, reading maps and after this weekend, I may add using a GPS to that list.
My oldest daughter’s soccer team travelled to Columbia, Md. for their last spring tournament over Memorial Day weekend. She and I left late afternoon Friday and returned home late evening Sunday after what could only be described as a navigational nightmare.
We managed to find our hotel with a minimum of issues, so we had no idea that we would have problems until Saturday morning. I punched the coordinates for the first field into the unit and naively set out to find it.
“Let’s grab some breakfast on the way,” I gamely said.
After about 15 minutes of driving in circles, up one road, turn around, go back down the road – all at the instruction of my assistive device – we pulled over and asked for directions. A breakfast burrito in hand, we finally found the field in time for the game.
Later, when attempting to meet some of the team for lunch, my GPS told me to merge onto the freeway. I noticed that the remaining cars in our caravan had no such intention. I followed them instead, much to the chagrin of the Australian-accented navigator, who told me to, “Chuck a U-ey when possible.” That would become his favorite phrase.
After lunch, the trip to our next field was worse. I was instructed to turn onto a road that was closed. No problem, I thought. I’ll let the GPS know that the road is closed, and it will recalculate directions.
Nope. It calmly told me there was no other route to follow, and suggested, somewhat irritably I believe, that I drive the highlighted route. I nearly died on the spot. How can this one road be the only road to a high school football field? I pulled into a gas station to seek – and receive – clearer instruction.
Finally, Sunday morning I tried to find a movie theater to help kill some time before our afternoon game. I could see on the screen of the GPS that I was being directed, once again, to drive several blocks up the road before turning around and retracing our path back to the parking lot where I was already in a space. I felt a kinship with the guests of Hotel California, except that I could drive and drive without arriving anywhere other than where I started. I nearly threw the thing away, until I overheard a conversation that made it all clear.
Apparently, the area we were in had a military base and a National Security Agency office and for whatever reason, the satellite signals were constantly disrupted. Since a GPS feeds from satellite signal, in that area they were distorted at best and useless at worst.
Somehow it made me feel better that it was everyone’s GPS and not just mine. I still couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag down there, and I made my daughter promise not to look at colleges in the region, but at least I wasn’t alone in my frustration.
Misery loves company, you know?