Navigation

I went to work on Friday. Yes, I go to work every day, but on Friday, I actually left the house and drove to the office. I blow dried my hair. I wore proper clothes and real shoes. I carried a work tote stuffed with computers and notebooks and pens and a power cord and a water bottle and a travel cup full of coffee. I was ready for dang near anything. 

We have a new office. The old one was too big and my company's CEO decided to shift to a full time hybrid model, with teams rotating in and out, one day a week. Our day is Friday. 

Since it's a new office location, I used Google Maps to navigate. I probably could have gotten there without the aid of satellite navigation, but there's no guarantee. My track record for finding places is not so good. Better safe than sorry, know what I mean?

Yeah, that’s what I think, too. So I keyed in the address, got in my rental car, and pulled out of my driveway, loaded for bear and ready for a real workday in a real office. 

As soon as I got within a mile of the place, I knew where I was, and I told Google to stop navigating. To do this, I spoke the words: “Hey Google. Stop navigating.” Google responded with a helpful reminder to bear right on Veirs Mill Road and turn onto 355 North. She didn’t hear me, I thought, anthropomorphizing the AI-powered mobile device as I tend to do. So I spoke a bit more loudly: “HEY GOOGLE. STOP NAVIGATING.” 

I passed the office, because I decided at the last minute that I wanted to get donuts or muffins or bagels or something for the rest of the team, none of whom are accustomed to early mornings in the office. Google, however, wasn’t having it. She ordered me to make the first available U-turn. I couldn’t reach the phone to just stop the navigation so I yelled a little louder. “HEY. GOOGLE. STOOOOPPPPP NAVIGAAATINGGG!” And Google helpfully suggested that I make a left turn at Mannakee Drive and then turn around and make a right back onto 355. 

Usual me would have just heaved a big sigh and accepted that I’d have to put up with Google Assistant telling me what to do as if she’s the boss of me. But I’m not usual me right now. I’m losing my grip. I’m hanging by the thinnest of threads. 

*****

On Wednesday, for example, I finished my old lady’s grocery shopping and came out to my car just in time to see a man lose control of his shopping cart, which rolled downhill directly into the passenger’s side of my car. Did I mention that the car is a rental? Well it’s a rental. The man didn’t see me coming; or maybe he did. He left the shopping car just where it landed, got into his car with what appeared to be considerable haste, and started the engine. He thought he was out, until he found me knocking on his window. He rolled the window down an inch. “Yes?” he said. 

“Were you even going to check?” I asked. “Your cart ran right into the side of my car, which is a rental. Were you even going to look to see if you did any damage?”

“It looked fine to me,” he said. 

“Oh good!” I said. “Well as long as you think it’s OK, then I guess there’s nothing to worry about. Carry on! Go about your business! Don’t let me hold you up! Have a lovely day!” 

Yes, I’m the crazy person in the Safeway parking lot. That’s me. That’s who I am these days. That’s a glimpse into my mental state. That’s a high-level view of the way that I’m handling stress right now. To my credit, I only yelled “Jackass!” after I was back in my car. Did I mention that the car is a rental? 

Now that you have that helpful insight into my psyche; now that you understand that I am a ticking time bomb who yells “Goddamn it” all day long, you will also understand that when Google Assistant refused to comply with my simple and direct command to cease with the navigational instructions, I didn’t take it calmly.

*****

“Hey Google! Shut the fuck up!” I said, as I made a U-turn on 355 to get me to the Giant. She responded with a terse command to make yet another U-turn so that I could get to the office, which is on the other side of the road. “Hey Google! Burn in Hell!” I yelled back. 

The shopping trip proceeded without incident, though I was sweaty and flustered and cursing under my breath as I lugged my giant tote bag through the store. I don’t ever leave my Federal government laptop in a car or anywhere else other than on my desk so I couldn’t just carry my purse; I had to schlep all of my baggage. Thankfully, I remember what the stupid car looks like now, so at least I didn’t have to hunt for it, laden now with the handbag, the tote bag, and the shopping bag full of banana nut, corn, and blueberry muffins. I put all of the stuff back in the car, drove to the office (having silenced Google Assistant and her infernal voice navigation) and took a moment to organize my belongings and distribute them appropriately (keys in my pocket, tote bag on my shoulder, purse on one arm and shopping bag on another) so that I could walk calmly into the office looking like a professional person carrying her belongings and not like a lunatic dragging a fucking dog sled across the desert. 

Do you see? DO YOU SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME? A dog sled in the DESERT. Nobody drags a dog sled across the desert. I’m mixing metaphors. What is next? Dangling modifiers? Vague pronoun antecedents? Misuse of the semicolon? Inability to distinguish between “imply” and “infer”? I haven’t hit bottom yet, and there’s nowhere to go but down. On the other hand, I did say “like a fucking lunatic,” and a fucking lunatic might in fact drag a dog sled across a desert. 

*****

You know what? The actual day at work was rather pleasant. It was nice to see everyone again. There were four of us sharing a single table, so I didn’t get much work done, but that wasn’t the point, I guess. The muffins were well-received, and a meeting that would normally have stressed me right out had no effect on my disposition at all, and I went home early, with no assistance from Google. It wasn’t a bad day. And I may well be mixing metaphors, but I am sure that my semicolons are on point, and I’ll never drag a dog sled across a desert or anywhere else. I’m crazy, but I’m not a fucking lunatic.