This Thanksgiving as I headed to my family's home in my trusty car, I made sure to bring my faithful GPS, which has never steered me wrong because I also always bring along a map of wherever I am going.
I did not need the GPS, of course, to go to my relatives' house, where I have been many times. The GPS was to help me find a new route to avoid the annual Thanksgiving tradition out here in the East, which is to park one's car along a 1,000-mile stretch of Interstate 95 and, every now and then -- about every two hours -- put the car back into drive, drive forward no more than two millimeters, and stop again. This puts one at one's destination just in time for the family holiday dinner at Easter.
This year the Thanksgiving traffic was projected to be even worse, because, by government decree, the toll booths had to undergo major renovations on this, the most heavily trafficked day of the year, and they must begin merging lanes at least 3,500 miles before the toll booth, and they must reduce the usually plentiful number of ticket booths available to somewhere in the negative numbers. Officials were advising drivers to find another route to their destination, preferably one by way of Mexico City. The newspaper printed a handy chart of peak drive times, and suggested that drivers choose a non-peak time to travel the interstate, such as March 6, 2016.
So before I became part of the enormous parking lot I turned off the interstate, and promptly threw the GPS into panic. It insisted that I turn around and get back on the interstate, offering up every street and driveway that could possibly be used to turn around.
In .2 miles, it urged, turn left on Goat Hill Road.
"I am not turning left on Goat Hill Road," I said firmly while passing Goat Hill Road.
It tried again. In .9 miles, turn right on Snake Lane.
"I am not turning right on Snake Lane, either. Get over it," I said. "Tell me something useful, like where a Starbucks is around here."
In .4 miles, turn left into Starbucks, the GPS said.
"Really?" I said hopefully.
Ha ha ha ha ha! You are 916 kilometers from the nearest Starbucks!
"Kilometers, kilometers...kilometers are smaller than miles, right? So that's, like, only .3 miles, right? Like, it's close?"
Ha ha ha ha ha! the GPS jeered again.
The GPS continued to vie with the Christmas music station for my attention, certain that what I really wanted was to turn around and drive 900 kilometer-miles back to the interstate. Eventually it gave up on this, and settled for helpfully pointing out nearby points of interest.
You are 3,000 miles away from the nearest Dunkin' Donuts. You are 562 light-years away from the nearest restroom (which is closed). You are...
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