Real Men Don't Ask for Directions

For those of you who have spent any significant time around a man, be it your brother, your boyfriend, husband or father, newborn male child in diapers, you know all about a man’s obsession with gadgetry. It doesn’t seem to matter if he really needs, wants or even understands how to use it: a gadget he doesn’t possess is an abomination to his sensibilities, regardless of it’s obscure and totally useless purpose. A man without his gadgets is like a woman without her tweezers: You really don’t need either of them to survive, but nobody’s happy without ‘em either, ya know?

My hubby once got a new gadget, just in time for our sojourn to the Outer Banks for Thanksgiving. In his eyes, it was perfect. It was glorious. It was made just for him. It was also something one of his buddies had that he didn’t have, which made it that much more necessary. It was a Garmin Street Pilot III GPS system for the motor home. Yes, folks, a device that tells you where you’re going and how to get there via satellite tracking. Even talks to ya. I’m thinking at this point: Cool. No more arguments about which exit to take, no more barfing in the car from trying to read a map with a flashlight at night, and best of all, no pulling in to half deserted service stations in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere at midnight to ask for directions resulting from our being lost due to a “short-cut” somebody told him about and telling ME to ask for directions, which invariably led to my having conversations with some marginally inbred fella named Bubba that always start out something like “Well howdee thar little lady, just what kin I do fer a cute little thang like you this late at night {{{sluuurp}}? You alone?”

Maybe this could be a good thing, just maybe. Probably not, but maybe.

Needless to say, the day the UPS guy pulled up in front of our house with this surprisingly small box, there was the hubby, hopping from foot to foot doing his version of the peepee dance. Naïve, yes, but I’m still figuring that we just pop this baby out of the box, pop it into the motor home and say “show me the right road”. No no no no no. This thing comes with SOFTWARE, people, and cables and all kinds of nifty instructions, none of which hubby knows how to do. After peering at all the parts, poking at all the buttons, he very ceremoniously turned to me, handed it all over and said “Here. Make it work. I’ll get you the laptop.” At least an hour later I hand it back, after which he promptly disappears into the motor home for the next two hours to play. I sit back and wait, knowing eventually I’ll hear the words “how does this thing work?”

Eventually the day comes when we’re heading out on the road for our first big trip with the new toy and expectations are high. We pull out of our driveway and it tells us to turn right. REALLY!!! God, it knows where we are!!!! It then gives us rights and lefts and exits and all kinds of interesting information and it makes nifty little beeps, whistles, and the voice politely tell us our turn is in 200 feet and I’m thinking that maybe this was a fabulous idea after all. This trip is gonna be a breeze! No stress, no confusion, piece of cake. We are now members of the 21st century, we are techno-wizards, we are Mr. and Mrs. Buck Freakin’ Rogers baby!!!!! Those of you who are laughing at me right now, go right ahead. Chuckle at my expense. Those of you who are NOT laughing yet have not spent enough time on the road with a man to understand what is obviously coming.

All went well until his beloved toy gave an instruction he didn’t agree with. That’s right, he wanted to ARGUE with the instructions given by the state of the art Garmin Street Pilot III GPS system. He said “That’s not the way we’re supposed to go”. I said, but honey, that’s what it says right here on the fully readable, color screen and that’s what the nice lady said.” He said, but it’s not right.” I said “define right”. He said “my way”. I said “Oh God”. So instead of consulting and trusting his state of the art toy, he starts calling his buddies on his cell phone to ask them which way they went when the drove to the Outer Banks because “this just don’t look right, man”. He would get other directions, go that way and then I’d have to re-program the trusty ol’ Garmin to tell me where I was and how to get where I was going based on the turn he had just made, contrary to the Garmin’s instructions in the FIRST PLACE. Is there a sick irony hidden in there somewhere, or was it just really really late at night?

In other words: He loves his Garmin Street Pilot III. He paid a lot of money for it, he thinks it’s cool and he’ll listen to it – as long as it’s telling him what he wants to hear. And I know just how his beloved Street Pilot feels, because he’s been ignoring my directions for 16 years now.