A cell phone’s GPS application: It’s a nice idea in theory, until it informs you a dumpster is your destination.
Last Friday was a rare “day off” for me – invited to the Texas Beef Council’s “Appetite for Inspiration” for local bloggers.
My friend, Leigh Ann, generously offered to drive us there, so I didn’t even bother to look up the location on a map – armed with only a vague recollection from months ago when I’d first received the invite.
I climbed into the car, the day already warm. As I buckled my seat belt, she tapped away on her phone.
“Don’t you have directions?” I asked. Doubt crept into my voice. I waved it off, too many years of being The Navigator.
“I just use my phone.”
“Okay.” I settled in for the ride.
After all, how complicated could locating the Texas Beef Council be?
We knew the main road of the location, so I barely listened to the initial monotone instructions until the end.
“Turn right in fifty feet.”
Leigh Ann slowed the car. And turned.
Into a new residential complex.
We exchanged looks.
“I don’t think this is right.” I said.
Figuring the GPS knew of some secret back way, we continued following the road, weaving by town homes and vacant lots.
“You are at your destination.”
What. The. Frak.
We looked at each other.
Leigh Ann glared at her phone. “This is not the Texas Beef Council.”
“Let me plug the address into my phone.” I pulled out my cell, typing the numbers in. Double checking to make sure they are correct.
It popped up an arrow – about ten miles down the main road. In Lakeway.
“I know those roads. We’re about fifteen minutes away.” I said.
Now I was back into my comfortable role of The Navigator. We drove, talking, gabbing. Laughing more about the dumpster.
We closed in on the dot.
“It should be around here somewhere.” I searched either side of the road, trying to find a sign.
She kept driving.
“I’m pretty sure this is too far.” I said. Then I spotted the ancient form of help.
A police car, parked on a side road.
“Pull over and we’ll ask him where it is.”
Leigh Ann turned as a minivan pulled away. I opened the car door and ran over.
“Are you looking for the funeral home too?” he asked.
“Uh, no. I’m trying to find the Texas Beef Council.”
“I have no idea where that is. Do you have the address?”
I peeked at my cell. “8708 North FM 620.”
“Lakeway starts over eleven hundred. You need to head north.”
What the frak??!
“But…we just came from that direction.” Frustrated I returned to the car.
“Well?” Leigh Ann asked.
“He says it’s north, back the way we came. Head north. I’ll figure this out.”
She pulled back onto the road, retracing our drive.
I finally did what I should have done when the dumpster greeted us.
“Call Texas Beef Council.” I said to my phone. It dialed.
“Hello Texas Beef Council.”
“Hi, I’m trying to find your building and we’re having GPS difficulties.”
She gave me instructions, answering my questions.
They were spot on. We found their small sign, turned onto the road leading to the council, their building hidden behind the animal hospital and a wall of trees.
Just north of it? The same town home complex the GPS lead us through.
The dumpster? Probably less than 1000 feet from their building, the view blocked by the trees.
What the frak, y’all?
You can read about my “day off” HERE.
Have you had a navigation fail? Did you dare ask for directions?