Mano-a-mano with the GPS-lady

—“I might hafta GPS that Christmas Luncheon.”
I said that to **** ******, a fellow retired Transit bus-driver like me, who also happens to like trains.
That was last Sunday. We attended a model-train show at a nearby college.
Webster, the location of the Transit retirees Christmas Luncheon, is about 30 miles north of my house. It’s also much different than it was 30 years ago. The list time I visited I was driving bus for Regional Transit.
One of my favorite afternoon “halves” was two trips to Webster.
The road our luncheon would be on may not have existed 30 years ago. Now Webster is much more congested.
**** gave me directions, but it’s been 30 years.
“How ya gettin’ up there?” he asked.
“I’d probably go up 250,” I said. But let the GPS-lady decide.
I have a cantankerous relationship with the GPS-lady. She better agree with the GPS in my head.
One time she directed me up a one-way street the wrong way.
“What you been smokin’, girl?”
I took my dog to my nearby kennel, then fired up the GoogleMaps® GPS-lady.
“Continue three miles on Cannan Road.” After perhaps a mile “Cannan Road” becomes “Bennett Road.”
But not to the GPS-lady.
“We’re on Bennett Road,” I said.
“Turn right onto Strong Road.
“Okay, but we’re turning off ‘Bennett,’ not ‘Cannan.”
So far so good, despite the GPS-lady being drunk.
She had me using expressway instead of 250. Less direct, but probably quicker.
Finally Barrett Drive, probably non-existent 30 years ago. Suddenly there was Webster Columbus Center (Knights of Columbus), location of our Christmas Luncheon.
The old bus-driver (me) happened to notice it on my right. The GPS-lady seemed confused.
The GPS-lady announces when I arrive, but was probably confused by my missing the entrance.
Arrival was also very sudden. “Your destination is 400 feet.”
I’m supposed to measure that? I’m also drivin’ my car.
That GPS-lady seems to be everywhere.
My supermarket recently installed a self-checkout.
“Please place your bag in the bagging area.”
“There’s that GPS-lady again.”
A few seconds pass, then “Please place your bag in the bagging area!”
“I’m tryin’!”
And then of course, you dare not bag your bananas as two separate bunches when you weighed them as one item.
“NAUGHTY-NAUGHTY!” the GPS-lady shrieks. “He’s tryin’ to rip me off! CALL SECURITY!”
***** has to appear to override the GPS-lady.
I even had the GPS-lady turn in an alarm because she thought my bag was unscanned groceries.
As bus-drivers we pretty much knew our way around despite lack of a GPS-lady.
My bus-driving ended 26 years ago with my stroke. Webster was much different back then.
It’s still “where life is worth living,” but I woulda been all over creation without that GPS-lady. I also probably woulda taken 250 with its 89-bazilyun traffic-lights. Add 10-15 minutes.
But that GPS-lady better agree with what’s in my head.
“Please place your bag in the bagging area.”
“Yes mother!”

• “Transit” equals Regional Transit Service (RTS), the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993). My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered well enough to return to work, but not driving bus.
• An RTS bus run was usually two “halves:” two sections of work, usually one in the morning and one toward night (or perhaps both at night). Eight straight hours was one “half;” some runs had three “halves” — make sense of that. Straight-eights were rare, but three “halves” fairly common. I worked rush-hours when we lived in Rochester = a morning “half” and then a late-afternoon “half.” Three “halves” usually involved school-work. When we moved to West Bloomfield I could no longer work the rush-hours, which paid more since they involved a split-shift with a break between “halves” of four hours or more.