Enough, Already

TomTom used to be my friend.  Together we navigated through Pittsburgh with few mishaps. We made in in and out of the Allegheny National Forest, only getting lost twice. I loved my TomTom.

That love/hate thing? I understand completely.

Route 422, get off the right ramp, Walmart is RIGHT THERE. Except that TomTom didn't know it was closed. Route 422, not Walmart. I tried a different way.  TomTom kept directing me back to 422. "Turn around when you can do so safely..." it kept repeating...."TURN AROUND,YOU IDIOT!" , at least that's what I think the girly-voice said.  Maybe it swore, I'm not sure about that.

I pulled into a gas station and threw myself at the attendant, practically sobbing in her arms. Gratefully, she was a native New Castlonian and a Walmart enthusiast as well. 

"Oh, it's easy, Honey," she said in a voice remarkably like  TomTom's.....spooky.  I understood her directions perfectly--two lights, turn right;  three lights, turn right; two lights, turn right...huh? Back on the same drag, right in the face of a detour...I heard TomTom snicker.

By this time, 104 miles, TomTom's estimate, was 128. I growled at my emptying gas tank, snarled at the poor flagman...and nearly drove right past Walmart!  At last!

A parking spot right near the entrance.  I clocked in with my little computer and checked into the store,,,it was supposed to be a two-hour call...I looked to see what had to be done here....one item...wait...ONE ITEM? That can't be right....ONE ITEM?

I filled the shelves, straightened the display. One hour, forty-five minutes left.  I looked for a manager. Off today. Gall bladder.  Inventory coming. No order. Left one anyway. One hour, thirty-five left.I got bread and dog biscuits.  Phooey on this, my language not at all ladylike and far more colorful.

TomTom, mercifully, was kinder getting me home.  He with the she-voice didn't yell once!

So you see, Boss, I like the work in general. I am used to getting lost once in awhile.  It's just that I used to enjoy driving.  I don't anymore.  I'm beginning to imagine that an inanimate object yells at me.  I'm so tired when I get home after a 200 mile day, then have to go back to work, or do computer stuff not for pleasure.  I'm tired of being on a first-name basis with the gas station attendant.

The list of last straws lengthens.

Enough, already.  Good night, TomTom.