GPS leads directionally challenged into future

BY: Charles Walsh

"Wait," my sister-in-law said when we realized that neither of us had a clear idea of how to get from Stratford to the University of Connecticut Health Center in Farmington. "I'll go get the Garmin."
Now, she said this in such a matter-of-fact way that only a complete fool would deem to ask who the Garmin was, or why the "the" was placed before his or her name.

Could I have misheard? Perhaps what she really said was, "I'll go get the garment," some favored sweater or jacket that in the past had given her luck in finding her way. No. Why would anyone call an item of clothing "the garment," thus imbuing it with sort of elevated generic status?

So I chose to keep quiet, reasoning that the Garmin must have something to do with getting to Farmington.

Perhaps the Garmin was a kid down the street with a photographic memory. All you had to do was ask him to picture the map of Connecticut, tell him where you needed to go and he'd spit out the route sequence and mileage like a "Star Wars" robot.

But when she returned, she had no kid in tow. Instead she clutched what looked like the world's smallest television set with a suction cup affixed to the bottom.

"OK, let's go," she said, starting to plug the little TV into the cigarette lighter socket. "What's the address of the Health Center?"

We'd previously looked that up on the computer, and she typed the address into the little television gizmo's tiny keyboard as we hit the road.

By then I had deduced that the Garmin was one of those fabulous gadgets that come as standard equipment on some expensive cars; turn it on and a sweet, soothing female voice tells you, turn-by-turn, mile-by-mile, how to get to a stated destination. This one was portable.

Subsequently I found out that Garmin is a Kansas-based company that makes a variety of satellite-aided devices. This one is described as a "portable travel assistant with GPS." Even I knew that GPS stands for Global Positioning System.

"It's not responding to that address; must be something wrong," she said, not indicating whether it was the address or the Garmin that was wrong. Maybe the satellite had crashed or the Earth had somehow wobbled out of orbit. It turned out that it was human error; one too many digits in the address had so confused the Garmin that it was incapable of speech.

Finally, after punching a more reasonable number into the device, the Garmin said, "reconfiguring" in what sounded to me like a condescending tone.

Now the directions started.

"In 0.2 miles, turn left," she said. No "please," no "thank you." Just do it, bub. Now! "Turn right."

It was a woman's voice all right, but instead of a motherly "everything's going to be OK" tone, she had a certain clipped urgency. Still, you had the feeling she knew what she was talking about.

Now if you are thinking this is going to be just another confirmed Luddite's put-down of technology, it's not.

Once the Garmin got the correct information, she performed flawlessly. When the Garmin said to keep left on the highway, you could be sure to expect one of those dumb left-hand exits Connecticut highways are so famous for.

The only glitch came on the way home came when, as I approached a highway exit I knew to be correct, the Garmin maintained a stony silence. I panicked, nearly passing the exit.

Then I remembered we'd shut the Garmin off. My sister-in-law turned it back on. Two hours of driving and I was dependent on a satellite.

All things considered though, I think I prefer the days when a "personal travel assistant" was someone to remind you not to forget your toothbrush or your favorite pillow.