Around the World in a Daze

My name is Jon and I was born without a sense of direction. I come by this malady honestly, my Dad (bless his soul) couldn't find his butt if he had a bell tied to it either. Technically you could trace my deficiency back many generations when my ancestors were said to have wondered in the desert for forty years looking for the Promised Land.

When most people are faced with a decision to make a right or left turn, the percentages of them guessing correctly is 50-50. Oddly enough Race Horse Jonny's post odds are 99-1 against picking the correct direction every time i break out of the gate.

Last month I hopelessly wandered around two different parking garages desperately trying to escape the premises. As I circled familiar pillars over and over again, I considered heading for the roof and plummeting "Dukes of Hazzard" style towards the pavement. Finally I was able to catch a glimpse of daylight and bolt this driving hell that I had made for myself. Note: A true driving hell would also include my wife and mother-in-law in the vehicle, Satan and an unlimited supply of alcohol, held just out of my grasp. After a few million miles I might even begin to bond with the lord of the underworld who, knowing the other two passengers, would be sharing my misery.

A few weeks ago a took my son to a baseball game in Washington, DC and left plenty of extra time to get lost along the way. Armed with my Mapquest notes I forged on northbound. Incredibly I made it to DC with no wrong turns. Getting to the actual stadium was a whole other thing. We saw monuments, we saw the White House, we passed the Pentagon (several times), but could not find the ballpark. It amazed me how many languages that one would need to know when asking for directions in our nations capitol. I felt like I was taking in a Berlitz weekend crash course. Four innings into the game the field appeared on our left as if by magic. Like my ancestors I had stumbled upon the land of milk and honey but, with over 39 years to spare!

Following the game (while getting lost on the way home) I decided to make an investment in a GPS unit. I heard varying opinions on the reliability of these contraptions, yet at this point I would urinate on a spark plug if i thought it would help me find my way anywhere.

Entering my local Best Buy i scanned the floor for my perfect driving mate. Among the cellphones, ipods and laptops i spied a glimmering reflection is the rear of the showroom. Drawn to this wondrous light i floated across the floor. When my eyes meet her screen, I was a goner. I knew immediately that she was the one, my Garmin Street Pilot 330 (on sale for $249.95). Once freed from her glass covered prison I held her in my arms for the first time. Should I say it, could this be love?

Installation was a painless and even pleasurable experience. Mounted upon my windshield was my savior, my mechanical guide to Nirvana. Before I could say "Where the hell am I" my new partner was spewing directions in a soft, but stern woman's voice. Accessing the menu I changed the voice to that of a lovely electronic British woman who (by the number of her maps) has obviously been around. Just the lady I've been looking for.

My travel friend was a Garmin so I named her "Carmen", Carmen Garmin. Since uniting with Carmen I have not been lost once. With Carmen I am on time to meetings and can find my way anywhere (with the possible exception of my old nemesis indoor parking garages. The satellite reception is too poor for Carmen to help).

To quote the old spiritual "I once was lost, but now I'm found". Thank you Carmen for helping me see the light.