“Snippy Sandy” Leads Us Astray

I have written often about my late husband’s fascination with gadgets … especially those new on the market. Back in the late 90’s, I planned to surprise him one Christmas with a “TomTom.” It was a new navigation system for your car and highly advertised. It promised to take the place of maps which were always tearing apart at the seams. I say planned to surprise him because this was before we began paying bills online and he saw the order on Mastercard. At least he tried to act surprised. And the gadget did make a hit.

For weeks, if we were traveling to First Baptist Church, HEB, the Square, the Club, or just up the hill to Leonard and Annette Freemon’s place, he used his ‘handy-dandy’ TomTom. Me? I was not nearly as enthralled with the new device. Mainly, because I did not like the woman who gave the instructions. She called I-10 the “motorway.” And she would get just plain disagreeable if you veered from HER path of directions. She would start off rather calm, “Take next available right.” If you refused, knowing she was mistaken, she would go on for miles – becoming louder and more agitated with each outburst until she was practically shouting. At this point we simply turned off “Snippy Sandy’s” power. For example, she once tried to take me through the Colorado River on my way to the Bastrop Library.

But there finally came a time that even Freemon became fed up with her misinformed mechanical brain and swore she was to be jerked out by her connections and tossed out the car window.

One September day, we decided on a spur-of-the-moment trip to New Orleans. We and Sandy made it just fine through busy Houston traffic and less busy, but still frustrating, Beaumont traffic. We had already become seasoned La Grange citizens by this time and, therefore, impatient when it took us over 15 minutes to make our way through a town. Despite the Houston and Beaumont slow downs, we were still able to reach our favorite LaFayette seafood restaurant before 6 p.m. Being a weekday, service was fast and, under Sandy’s careful care, we were back on the ‘motorway’ shortly after 7 p.m. She would lead us to our Baton Rouge motel where we would spend the night. Back home, I had gone online and found a motel closer to downtown and away from freeway noise. This was the destination to which she was programmed to lead us.

Nearing the city limits, Freemon began to check more closely with his friend, Snippy Sandy. She instructed him to take the next exit and turn left. This we did. And that is when our trip started going down hill when there was no hill. There was a string of fast food places on both sides of a road which wound around into a neighborhood and then dead ended.

“Now, you are sure this is the right address?” Freemon asks.

“Yes. I have it written down right here,” pulling a yellow sticky note from my purse.

We head back toward I-10 to start over. This time, Sandy directs us through the red light and keeps us on the service road for two blocks to a street which leads to the left. After passing two churches and a graveyard we are directed to turn right on a busy thoroughfare. Time passes and Sandy remains silent. We do not see this busy thoroughfare on Sandy’s ‘face’ but we do see what appears to be water ahead. At this moment Sandy begins to murmur, “Recalculating…recalculating.”

“Stop at the next service station and let’s find out where we are, for goodness sake!” Oh, foolish Brenda, would Freemon Miles or any man succumb to stopping to ask directions?

Sandy’s recalculating takes us back in the opposite direction but Freemon’s faith in Sandy has not yet wavered…calling her mistake a “simple miscalculation.” We finally arrive for the third time back on I-10 but, this time the state capital is in view. I-10 East curves right and becomes I-10 South. Once more Snippy Sandy instructs us to turn at the next exit and take a left under the ‘motorway’ and follow with a sharp right. After what seems forever to me, we begin to pass structures that resemble dormitories and classroom buildings. We take the next right, as prompted, and it morphs into a roundabout, for crying out loud!

After circling the thing four times, I shouted, “Freemon, stop! Stop right now! Can’t you see we must be in the middle of the LSU campus without a motel in sight? Why didn’t I write down the phone number of this place? It’s already dark outside. Pull over NOW! I will call information and get this motel’s number and I will write down the directions as any sensible person should have done in the first place.” My high-pitched, shaky voice rarely surfaces, but when it does he knows he’d better pay attention. With his jaw flexing, he reluctantly pulls into a parking space that is intended for “Faculty Only.”

I make my call, write down the directions, we make only a few turns and we are at our motel. It was just after 9:00. Two hours for a 58 mile trip from Lafayette to our Baton Rouge motel! Snippy Sandy was disconnected the next morning before I would get inside the car.

We stopped to pick up a New Orleans city map as soon as we crossed the Lake Pontchartrain Bridge. The rest of the trip was mostly pleasant and, after a couple of weeks, my husband replaced/connected Sandy under the dash. Yet, this fiasco still makes me wonder how many other marriages were threatened during these early experiences in navigational technology? But, perhaps, I’m being too hasty … I probably need to recalculate.

Brenda Miles, formerly of La Grange, is an award-winning columnist and author living in Hot Springs Village, Arkansas. She responds to e-mail sent to brenstar@att.net.