When I get lost and technology fails me.

You know those lab rats that run through mazes?  Well, if I ever got reincarnated as one of them, I’d be in deep rat doo-doo.  I couldn’t find my out of a paper bag if it came with neon EXIT signs.  And all the technology in the world often doesn’t help. 

Recently when I got horribly lost, my adult son told me it was because I was using Apple maps on my phone rather than Goggle maps.  

“Well, it says maps,”  I said, showing him the app.  “How do I know if it’s Apple or Google?”  

He took my phone, swiped to the next screen and showed me the big “G,” under which it says “Google maps.”

OK, mister-smarty-pants, I thought.

So now I use the big G, even though I have built-in navigation in my car.  When I bought my car, I thought it was imperative to have this feature, given my, y’know, limitations.  But “Navi” mispronounces street names, and if I don’t listen to her, she purposefully gets me more lost.  I don’t like Navi.

Last week, I had to attend a wake, so I put the address in G and we headed out.  After a few blocks, however, I realized that G wasn’t talking to me.  At every red light, I fished out my glasses, poked at him and tried to make him talk.  What, you’re holding out for beer and cigarettes?, I thought.  

Finally, I pulled over into a parking lot.  Still not talking, G was now stuck on rerouting me.  Apparently he didn’t know where I was.  

Hello??  It’s your job to know where I am.  You’re supposed to be smarter than Apple, remember? 

I decided to give the address to Navi.  It was her chance to repair our relationship.  Then I realized I didn’t have the address.  G had it, but at that point he was spinning his little wheels like a lost lab rat.  I searched Navi’s points of interest, but I guess she doesn't think people get lost going to wakes because no funeral homes came up.

Then I realized I could ask Siri.   

“Ha,”  I told G and Navi outloud, “I don’t need you anyway.”

But it was a conspiracy.  Siri told me I was no longer a hotspot and couldn’t get internet access.

What??  Don’t tell me I’m no longer a hotspot! 

So there I was, in a parking lot in the freezing February rain, beaten into submission by a trio of virtual pranksters.

Looking up, I pleaded silently, God, I’m really trying to do a good thing here.   But God must not have been in a hotspot either, because He didn’t answer.

Reluctantly, I called my husband at work for directions.  He’s used to the routine, and lucky for me, picked up on the first ring.  Maybe God was in a hotspot after all.

Coming back from the funeral home, I didn’t bother hitting “home” on Navi or G, as all I had to do was make one left turn and I would know where I was.  I made a phone call using my Bluetooth as I pulled away.  I got my friend’s voicemail, and here’s what she heard:  

“Hi Peggy.  I’m just leaving the funeral home, so you can call me back any … Oh shit, am I going the wrong way?  Peggy, hold on a sec.  (Mumbling)  What the hell street is this?  Peggy, I think I’m lost.  (Under my breath) Oh my god, I can’t believe …  Peggy, I’ll have to call you back.”

So much for conspiracy theories.  It’s all just me.