My GPS supplied to me from work is named Thomas. He speaks with a British accent, more patient than I am. I was reluctant to use a GPS. Give me a good map- we used to have one in our Youngstown office plastered on a big wall. Give me the street name and city, and I mapped it out- L/10 for Woodlawn.
I seldom got lost and if I did, I prayed. Before I knew it, the street would pop up in front of my faith mobile, that's what I called my Corsica that ended up with two hundred thousand miles. That was a great car. David bought me a plate for the front that showed I Heart Jesus. I felt protected always, even in the ghetto.I have been tooling around eastern Ohio and western Pennsylvania for the last twenty years for work.
Then mapquest came on the scene and we never asked patients for directions anymore. Just plop it in the computer, copy and paste, voila, directions in our lap top. As new personnel came on board, that detail was left out of inputting information for new admitts.
I was forced to drag Thomas out. I know too much and he is often wrong. He still tells me to turn right, when I know I have to turn left. He often directs me to a field. Really, Thomas? Really? No one lives in a field.
Thomas can be a tool, though, to help me. I do tire of his "route recalication." Thomas, I am a human GPS, I've memorized these roads, I've studied maps, God gifted me with a great sense of direction. I think I know how to get there. So I turn Thomas off. He can get very annoying.
My dad loved to drive all over. He knew Pymatuning back roads. I often asked him ways to get around the Shenango Valley. I missed him when I started doing home health. All those Sunday drives, where I wasn't plugged into a electronic device, just the wonderful outdoors, I memorized where we were. Take me someplace once and I could get back there.
So Thomas and I argue. I do have the upper hand. I can turn him off. He can't touch me. And I won't drive into a lake.