World Domination – by Sat Navs

As mentioned previously, Grannys.Myth.Peeler is doing a grand job of peeling away the myths and lies of this world, even though some people may doubt the truthfulness of his tales. I for one am completely convinced of the truth of these accounts, having experienced similar situations myself.

Allow me to draw your attention to his post Will Robots Ever Have a Sense of Humour? Well yes, I believe they already do, but for those of us on the receiving end of their “humour” it’s rarely, if ever, funny. Consider this true life account:

We bought our Sat Nav a couple of years ago now. I should have known from the start that there was “something not quite right” when the female voice started giving me directions after I had specifically selected the male voice. So obviously, being the strong and determined woman that she is, she wasn’t impressed with me referring to her as “the bimbo on the dashboard”. I meant it as a joke, but women can be so touchy.

The problems started one night when I was driving to an unfamiliar area in the next town. She suddenly started giving me vague directions like “bear left” instead of “exit left” when I was on a dual carriage way. I was unimpressed. After much shouting on my part, along the lines of “You stupid Bimbo, what the hell does ‘bear left’ mean?” she decided to retaliate by taking me round a whole housing estate before finally directing me to my destination. I’m sure this road looks familiar... I kept thinking to myself. It must have taken about an hour just to get to the next town.

Directing me home she took me on a completely different route along dark country lanes. I had no idea where I was and I was starting to doubt the reliability of this thing.
“Bear right” she said eventually.
“Bear right? There’s only one lane!” I shrieked.
“Bear right” she said again.
In the dark I suddenly noticed a turning to the right, sign posted with the name of my home town. I slammed my foot on the brake and screached to a halt just before the turning. What happened to ‘turn right’? Once again she was being deliberately vague, but my journey home only took about 10 minutes compared to the hour it took me to get there! She was obviously making a point – I was dependant on her; completely at her mercy; in no position to be insulting her at all.
“Stupid Bimbo” I muttered.

“Continue for 26 miles” she told me on another recent trip, and then seconds later “Continue for 3 miles”.
“Make your bloomin’ mind up” I complained.
Further along the road she said “In point 6 miles exit left”. Now, I don’t know about you but personally, not being a human odometer, I don’t know how far 0.6 miles is of the top of my head.

(Of course the mathematical part of my brain is now telling me that there are 3600 seconds in one hour, so if I was driving at 70 mph it would have taken me 51.428571 seconds to drive one mile, which means 0.6 miles would take me 30.857143 seconds. But it would have taken me more than 30.857143 seconds to work that out, by which time I would have missed my exit.)

“Exit left” she reminded me as we approached the slip road, and then
“At the roundabout take the fifth exit”.
“Umm, but that’s going back the way we came…” Maybe I took the wrong exit off the motorway? I thought to myself. Dutifully I rejoined the motorway. About 3 miles down the road (which I’m guessing may have taken me approximately 2 minutes and 34.28571 seconds) she said:
“In point 6 miles exit left” and then
“At the roundabout take the fifth exit”…back onto the motorway again!
I could be driving up and down the motorway all day at this rate, I thought. Predictably, 3 miles down the road she tried to get me to leave the motorway at the same exit again!
“No! I’m not doing it!” I shouted.
“Exit left”
“No!”
“Exit left”
“I’m not playing your silly games anymore! I’ll find my own way home!”
I’m not sure if I heard her huff with annoyance, but once we had passed the exit she reluctantly gave me the correct directions:
“Continue straight for 23 miles”
We had reached a “stale mate”.

I wonder if she considers us “even” now. One thing is for sure – I won’t be calling her a bimbo again.