GPS and Me

Long ago and far away I was a bombing/navigation system expert, in a cool manner of speaking. I was a lot smarter than the commissioned officers who had the rank and the pay check to support them. All I had were the smarts. And in a system of rank v. smarts, rank won out every time. Well, almost. Not when the chips were down, and we all needed to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That’s when they called on Honest Ed (that would be me) to get all the top brass out of a tight situation and onto the pathway to Enlightenment.

Well, those days of slow-flying bombers, and very heavy H-bombs, and how to bring them together over a target halfway around the world have come and gone. And nobody is happier about that change than me, old Honest Ed. But after having immersed my brain into the workings of 54 major electro-mechanical units, all designed to bring the world to an unhappy ending, I still pride myself on being able to find my way in, around, or through any spot on the map successfully. Well, most of the time. (Actually, I get lost now with such regularity, 911 has me on speed dial).

Nowadays even my grand kids can navigate their way in, around, or through any major city in the U.S., Canada, or Mexico. And they can do it without the aid of a periscope, a radar unit, or a flux valve. They have an impertinent talking device called GPS. Go figure.

And so, after driving in, around, and through Washington DC and the infamous “beltway” for the last time, and winding up going the wrong way on a diagonal thoroughfare that my brain cannot fathom, I finally said “enough!” Where is that little !.#$%^ talking device that my grand kids can operate while eating Fritos and making faces at passersby?

Going back to 2003, an old timer (he actually lived in an old timer’s retirement home) demonstrated his GPS unit to me. He said he used to have trouble getting out of the parking lot, but no more! He pointed to the image of his vehicle in the parking lot on his monitor, how the other vehicles were lined up pretty much as they were in real life, and after bumping and scraping his way along, he found the exit. Although I was slightly impressed, I did not have the heart to tell him I could see the exit from where we started. Fortunately for everyone, we were not going out into real traffic, in real time, with real moving objects all around us.

My next encounter with that little device was a few years ago in the big city of Denver. That’s my country. I was in the passenger seat of a new vehicle being driven by a hot looking lady lawyer (that’s another story for another time). We were nearly a mile from our turning point when her talking device alerted her to a coming left turn. I immediately corrected it by informing my attractive driver that her device was wrong, and we actually needed to turn right at said intersection. I also informed her of how the free world used to rely on my navigation skills, and perhaps she might not be here today except for them. She seemed unimpressed--in a lawyerly kind of way. At the intersection, she wheeled to the left, followed a loop, and came back right onto a…new freeway! Well, I was right the last time I drove in this area. Nobody told me about a new freeway, not until this little freaking talking machine came along to stab me in the heart with its cold, artificial voice.

So here I sit today, reading about these little devices, controlled by satellites, with periodic position corrections thanks to their reliance of the hyperfine energy level changes inherent in the cesium 133 atom. (Ok, I’m probably wrong, but that is how it was back in 1969 when I was still an ace navigation guy). Who knows what the hell they rely on today?

Being a bit slower of mind nowadays, I can still discern between a unit that costs $89.99 and one that costs $1,399. This cheaper of the two babies comes to me for 90 bucks thanks to eBay, free shipping, and the forces of global competition with lifetime map updates all at work for me. Not bad, considering my atomic clock c. 1969 had a price tag of $35,000. But I want one that will get me out of a traffic jam (and perhaps into another jam by tracking the location of a few hot babes chosen with careful planning aforethought). But I digress.

Digression or not, here is another flash of insight. Not so many years ago I used to warn my econ students (yeah, yeah. Another job, another story) about the growing population and the limitation that land imposes, and how traffic issues will only get worse and worse unless they (the younger generation) can come up with a working solution. Well, we are in it, and it looks like GPS is about all we have to contend with it.

I drive about 6,500 miles per year (down from 18,000 in my glory days). Still, I hate nothing on this planet more than traffic jams. I will gladly pay for the joy that comes with navigating around, over, or under a traffic jam. I am not full of road rage. I expend too much energy in hating one of my neighbors to have any left over for unknown others (that is also another story better left untold).

And so, before I click on the “send” button on the eBay order page, I will put my trust in my new friend, Ms. GPS, with the glimmering hope that she will help me circumnavigate all the troubles of this world, save only for those against which we (the discerning male population) have no defense—hot babes, now and forever!

Turn left at the next intersection…