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Pharm. D, Humorist, Satirist, and All-Around Nice Guy

     For years I have heard complaints from my mother and my wife about my driving.  There is nothing wrong with my driving -- I have had only two automobile accidents in more than 40 years, the last one being 35 years ago. And both of them were not my fault, either. Does that stop anyone from criticizing my driving? You be the judge.

     My mother starts yelling at me when I open the door to help her into the car.

     “You’re not going to drive too fast again now, are you?” she asks.

     I always answer the same way, “Of course I am, Mom, I want to scare you to death so that I can collect the insurance.”

     “Slow down – slow down. Do you always have to speed?” she cries…or something like that.

     “Mom, I haven’t started the car yet! Give me a chance to get up to 100 miles an hour in the alley,” I would like to say but usually never get the chance.

     I am constantly being criticized about my driving -- the way I drive, how fast I am going, the lane I am in, and how close I am to another car when I stop. The constant complaining is really bothersome, but not as disconcerting as when Shirley tells me how to get where we are going.

     I am a great driver and I have extremely sophisticated driving skills. However, I am a terrible navigator. Apparently this is an inherited characteristic, since my brother and father also suffered from the same lack of the direction-finding map gene. That is not really my problem though, since I have learned to live with it.

     I now understand that if I want to go right I should turn left. If I think I should exit on the west Wilshire off ramp I need to take the east one. I have learned how to get where I need to go. I have discovered how to survive.

     My problem is that Shirley is a professional navigator and explorer. She knows how to get everywhere, and she lets me know it. When a super route-finder knows exactly where they are going and there is a person like me behind the wheel – it can drive them crazy, especially when the driver has to guess at every intersection.

     Shirley, no doubt, is a reincarnation of Christopher Columbus. She can tell you which way to turn, how far away your destination is, and how long it will take you to get there. My biggest issue with her is that she is never wrong. I mean never.  She could walk from Northridge to Buffalo and never take a wrong turn. Airline pilots come back to her seat and ask her for advice. Carnival Cruise has her on a 24-hour emergency beeper. NASA calls her to ask for final coordinates before they start the engines on any new rocket launches. She is truly amazing. She must have a double set of map-making genes.

  I thought I could top her when I got a Global Positioning System (GPS) in my car. It was worth the extra expense, no matter how much the cost, for me to be able so say, “Never mind, I know how to get there myself.” I thought I was finally on equal terms with the “Super Navigator.” Well, I was wrong.

     My GPS sends up a radio signal to a constellation of more than two dozen navigation designated satellites which, in turn, broadcast precise timing signals by radio to the receiver in my car, allowing my on-board computer system to accurately determine my location (longitude, latitude, and altitude) in any weather, day or night, anywhere on earth. This means that I can determine where I am and which way I should go in any instant in time. Yes, you guessed it -- Shirley argues with the GPS, and Shirley usually wins.

     “In 300 feet, turn right at the next intersection,” the GPS would dictate.

     That phrase is usually followed by, “You are not going to turn right, are you?” The second vocalization comes from Shirley. She has a faster, more efficient, and better way to get anywhere. And she is always right.

     I love my GPS, especially when I am alone in the car. “She” (my GPS) has become a companion -- my driving pal. I turn “her” on to get out of my driveway or go to the gas station. I am on better behavior when she is with me. I apologize if I accidentally belch or have a whole string of excuses if I do something worse.

     “I am sorry, it must have been something I ate,” an excuse I usually quickly offer up.

     When my dear computer system gives me a direction, I thank her. Whatever she does, she does it with grace and courtesy. She cares about me. She is sensitive to my feelings. She is understanding and forgiving.

     “Please, turn around at the next intersection,” if I make a wrong turn. She almost apologizes and, once in awhile, moisture will accumulate on her screen, as if she has a tear in the corner of her viewing area.

     Shirley’s car is another story all together. In her car she has every possible gadget, computer, and new technology. She didn’t want the GPS, of course, but it came with all the other stuff so she had to get it. It also has a computer that understands voice commands. Not when I speak, but whenever Shirley gives a command. The car only pays attention to Shirley.

     If I say “Radio On” the car turns on the windshield wipers. If I request it to “Change Station” the air conditioner goes off. If I try to answer the phone it hangs up. It’s not that something is wrong; it’s that the car does not like me. Not only that, I think it saves up things I do and say, and tattles to Shirley when I am not there.

     Shirley’s GPS does not ask or request that I make a turn -- it orders me to turn. I never get a “please turn around” or “turn around at the next opportunity” if I make a mistake but a firm and angry demand, “turn around!” (The car must be in some kind of “this is not your car and I don’t care about you” mode.)

     And therein lies my problem.

     Now I don’t pay much attention to any voice in any car that I am driving -- I have zoned out. When the GPS in Shirley’s car orders me to “turn right,” I counter with, “sure dear, anything you say.” You see, I am just not paying attention to anything, even the directions. For a navigationally challenged driver this can be quite troublesome. Consequently, even with the GPS I am getting lost, winding up in strange places and late to everything.

     So you see, it is not the GPS or Shirley who get me to my destinations. Even with help and all this new technology it turns out to be -- just plain luck.

  About the Author - Barry Pascal, the North Valley’s Honorary Sheriff, owned Northridge Pharmacy for 32 years and is now retired. He has written several comedy books and writes a humorous column for the California Pharmacists Association Journal as well as North Valley Community News. He also claims to have been six feet eleven inches tall when he was younger and a member of the 1972 Lakers championship team.

  © Barry Pascal 2006