Terry and a couple of the boys left on their Great Hunting Adventure yesterday. It's a long drive from Florida to Michigan, and it's been quite a few years since Terry's been up there. So when I was making a list of things to pick up at the store, I commented that I was going to pick up a nice Atlas for them at Walmart. Have you ever seen the ones that have all of North America broken up by state? They also have the location of every Walmart and Sam's in the States, along with their proximity to the expressway. An extremely valuable tool, if I do say so myself.
Unfortunately, Indiana didn't agree with me. He's never been fond of maps. Plus, as he pointed out, he was basically driving a straight shot up I-75. Sure, it was practically from one end of the interstate to the other, but still, it wasn't like he was going to get lost.
Of course, there was the hour or so of back roads he'd need to travel in order to get to our end of I-75, but he had his GPS unit. I've had less than stellar experiences with GPS units, but he loves his, so I figured he should be all set. At least I did until I kissed him goodbye Sunday afternoon.
After all the good-byes had been said and all the gear loaded, he started to get into the truck and then paused in a very offhand way and asked, "How do I get to 75?"
Turns out Matt had his GPS unit. I fumed, but Indiana assured me he still knew the way to his folks' house, and that he wouldn't have a problem. I waved goodbye and watched as they pulled away, all the while planning what I would do with my free time.
For the next twenty-four hours or more I got various texts and calls asking things such as:
"Do I take 475 or 75 around Macon?"
"How far is Chattanooga from my folks'?"
"How many miles is Knoxville from my folks'?"
Clearly trying to gauge how far he needed to drive before stopping for the night. I finally started answering his calls in a British accent. I told him if he was going to treat me like a GPS unit, I was going to talk like one. Then I told him I was going to bed so he should turn right and not ask me for any more directions.
The next morning I found a text on my phone when I got out of the shower. Once again he and the boys were asking about distance. I guessed at a number and told them my GPS didn't work in the shower, and I'd have to get back to them later. Shortly after that I got another text asking again. So I texted back and instructed them to read the following message with a British accent: "I'm sorry. GPS information is not available at this time. Please try again later."
That worked for a while, but eventually they were at it again.
"If I take 23, how many miles will that save me?"
"When I get back on 75, what exit do I need?"
"Do I hit 75 before or after 69?"
You may be wondering why on earth I put up with all this nonsense. But I have a reason. Have you ever seen this commercial?
Oh, yeah! There's some bling in my future, baby! Especially if he plans on a direct route home.