Monthly Archives: February 2016

GPS PMS

Google images: gonzosabroad-blogspot-com

Google images: gonzosabroad-blogspot-com

The overly pleasant voice of my GPS said: “In 400 feet… turn right…”

I drove obediently to the corner of Blinker Street and Hive. After looking carefully both ways, I turned right.

Next GPS instruction: “In 400 feet… turn right…”

At the corner I stopped, and then I turned right again.

Again I heard: “In 400 feet… turn right…”

Hmm, that’s odd, I thought. Another right turn. At the next corner I turned right.

Then: “In 400 feet… turn right…”

Something smells really weird here, I thought. I should be getting nearer to Bob’s Toilet Parts, but the GPS just took me around the block.

Unsure of what to do, I turned right.

“In 400 feet… turn right…”

This is becoming ridiculous. I thought. I hit the “Nav” button. The radio came on. I pushed the “Dest” button. The wipers started. I pushed the “Map” button. I saw a map. But I couldn’t understand it.

I turned right.

“In 400 feet… turn right…”

Whoa! I exclaimed to myself. I almost missed that last right turn! Where in the world is my destination anyway? It must be around here somewhere.

For a moment I forgot where I was going. Then I remembered I needed a new flusher lever, ballcock nut, and universal rundle number 503. Ah yes, the toilet store.

“In 400 feet… turn right…”

“Okay,” I told my car. Compliantly, I turned right.

This went on for a while. Then I realized that I was in the wrong town. I parked the car and went to a bar.

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Weird Is the New Nice

Google images: pinterest.com

Google images: pinterest.com

My son and I dropped my wife off at the door of the grocery store, and then we parked in the lot to wait for her. Biff was sitting in the back seat.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon and my window was open. The passenger window in the car next to me was open, too, and sitting by himself in that car was a young boy of about 11 or 12. He was probably waiting for his mom.

“How are you doing?” I said unthinkingly through my window to the boy. The boy stiffened and looked straight ahead.

“DAD!” hissed my son. “What the heck are you doing?”

“Why? What’s the matter?” I said, looking at Biff’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

“You don’t DO that!”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Don’t say hi to a strange kid. Don’t you know that’s weird and creepy?”

“He doesn’t look very strange,” I replied.

“No, YOU’RE strange!” Biff whispered to me behind his cupped hand.

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess in these days you’re probably right. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“You’re going to get yourself arrested,” said Biff as he slunk down in his seat and looked away.

I rolled up my window.

After my wife was finished buying her cucumbers, she got back into the car. As we drove off, I told her what happened and asked her opinion. “I side with Biff,” she said. “You’re whacked.”

Okay. I understand. I used to be nice. Now I’m just weird.

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