Navigators

I was driving taking a trip to Michigan. As usual, I used my GPS, which has a very nice male British voice; you know the secret agent type. I noticed that I needed to get gas and since I was not familiar with the area, I asked the nice female personality that is part of my smart phone where the closest gas station was.  I witnessed a verbal altercation that was relentless in determination and fervor.

The male navigator, who I have affectionately named Tom was insisting that I turn around…repeatedly. At the the same time the sophisticated and calm female of my cell phone was directing me to go the opposite way.  Winding my way through a small hamlet, this debate continued for several miles. Then there was the moment when I no longer could see the interstate in my rearview mirror and there was not any signs posted along the road that indicated the a village was just ahead when memories of my children flooded into my head.

I heard, “Turn around when possible.”

“Turn left.”

“Turn around when possible.”

“You have reached your destination.”

However, in my head, I remembered, “He’s on my side.”

“He has my spaceship,” an in unison they pleaded, “MOM!”

When I finally reached the gas station, I filled my car with fuel and the two quieted for few minutes.  Then as I began to return to the interstate, the two came to an agreement that I was going in the right direction.

They were both quiet for the next 40 miles.