Thanks to an uninsured, unlicensed driver who side-swiped and totaled my husband's beloved 1992 Honda, we have a new Toyota Avalon, with a navigation system.
After Mapquesting my way around South Florida last month, I was excited about having a navigation system. (My only disappointment is that there's no touch-pad screen for inputting destinations. You have to choose numbers and letters from a keyboard, one at a time. Kind of tedious, and if you make a mistake, you're back to Step one. I made several mistakes.)
I first tested the navigation system last week when I drove to New Jewish Community High School in West Hills. I have to admit I wondered: Did the system really work?
It did - but not perfectly. The pleasant female voice that directed me over Laurel Canyon to the 101 Freeway-- I'll call her Miss Direction -- worried me when she told me to take the Topanga Canyon exit. See, I had checked Mapquest before leaving the house; Mapquest had instructed me to take Valley Circle. Feeling a little rude, I ignored Miss Direction. She took my disobedience in stride and adjusted to my route. Some time after I exited onto Valley Circle, she informed me that I had reached my destination and advised me to turn right. Actually, my destination was two blocks up, and I had to turn left into the parking lot.
Two days later I used the navigation system again when I drove to Encinitas to do a reading at the Barnes & Noble. I had planned to stop by Warwick's in La Jolla to sign stock before my B&N event. My husband (he was the driver) plugged in the address for Warwicks. He had also looked up directions for the Encinitas store on one of his many maps.
Miss Direction steered us to the 10 Freeway, and then to the 5. I guess she figured we were okay on our own after that, because she checked in only a few times to assure us that we were on track.
"I wish she'd stop talking," my husband said.
"I like her," I told him. "She's very pleasant."
Warwick's closes at six. A minor mishap had made us to leave Los Angeles later than we had intended, so the timing was tight. When we neared La Jolla, we sat in traffic caused by a major car accident. So it was a quarter to six o'clock when we finally exited onto La Jolla Village Drive, per Miss Direction's instructions. A minute or so later we found ourselves on Torrey Pines Road - dark, curvy, unfamiliar. At one point Miss Direction told us to turn right. My husband thought she was wrong. Turned out she was right. I don't blame him for doubting her. I had, too.
I didn't make it to Warwick's. I did enjoy the Encinitas event, where I saw people I'd met before and talked with a man who had come to hear me because his name is Krick.
"Could be we're related," he said.
"Could be," I agreed.
I used the navigation system last night as I drove to the newly remodeled Santa Monica Library, where I did a program with Denise Hamilton and Paula Woods. I had a pretty good idea of how to get to the library, but I wanted to see if Miss Direction knew her stuff.
The thing is, to get to Santa Monica, you can use the freeway or local streets. Miss Direction wanted me to use the freeway, but at six in the evening, when I was driving, the freeway has heavy traffic.
So I took took Beverly, which turns into Santa Monica Boulevard. A straight drive to the library. As I neared La Cienega, Miss Direction told me to turn left. I kept driving.
"In two-tenths of a mile, turn left," she repeated as I approached San Vincente.
"Sorry," I said. I really was. I didn't want her to feel useless, unappreciated.
Miss Direction didn't give up. She urged me again to turn left at Robertson, and one more time before I neared Wilshire Boulevard. She must have been frustrated, but she couldn't have been nicer when she told me in her velvety voice to proceed to my destination.
See, that's why I like Miss Direction. No attitude, sighing.
No, "Am I talking to myself?"
"I said, 'Turn left!"
"Didn't you hear me?"
"Why did you ask me for instructions if you had no intention of following them?"
Sometimes the inhuman touch is, well, more human.
No offense...
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