An open letter to my GPS, in which I apologize to it for all the things I said to it during a stressful drive (and I have said many many horrible things to my GPS):
Dear GPS,
I am writing you this letter to apologize for my abysmal behavior the other day in the car. I’ve always thought of myself as a kind, even-tempered person, but my actions towards you on Saturday did not reflect this.
It was supposed to be a lovely trip from Brooklyn to Philadelphia to meet my boyfriend’s parents and impress them with the fact that I am financially liquid enough to have a car in New York. Instead, it quickly escalated to chaos by the time we reached the Holland Tunnel, a name too quaint for that nightmarish place, and ultimately became verbally violent the second time I missed the right exit on the New Jersey Turnpike, God’s retribution for our original sin. And, when I nailed it on the third try, we’d left civility — and the I-278 West merge-lane — too far behind.
The second time I missed the right exit on the New Jersey Turnpike, God’s retribution for our original sin, I became verbally violent.
But that is no excuse for the profusion of name calling. I do not truly think I’d have been better off with whatever map Lewis and Clark made up. Nor do I actually wish you’d given me directions to get to the dealership back when I bought this car because then I’d never have arrived to purchase it and, by association, you. And, it does not go without saying apparently, but I do not think you are so flawed that even a Tesla Cybertruck would be better.
I also deeply regret shouting there’s no way you could be a German made car because as my ancestors know, Germans excel at giving orders, while your flaccid “authoritative” tone only got me lost in rural Pennsylvania. In one sentence, I somehow managed to insult you and your culture. Hurting you hurt me.
And… oh boy, I’ll just say it — I regret foisting my generational trauma onto you. But you must understand the chain of events that led to it, starting with how stupid I felt when you made it look like I was driving through a meadow when, clearly, unless you’re a moron, I was on the paved road flanking it. Not to mention how much simmering resentment flared in me when my mother texted that my brother had already arrived even though he left after us and was coming from Greenwich, CT., which, as you should know, is farther away than Brooklyn.
Suddenly, all I could hear was my mother’s voice telling me “I’d never be as good as my brother,” and that’s how I ended up telling you that you’d never be as good as my brother’s GPS. Did I mean to perpetuate generational trauma? No. And for that I apologize. I have also apologized to my partner and promised him that I am not turning into my mother and will be addressing this in my emergency therapy session tomorrow.
I’d like to think that this experience has brought us closer and opened a free-flowing dialogue between us. So, if I may offer some feedback, it might be worth daily checking to see what closures are in effect. I only mention it because, at times, it felt like you had no idea certain roads would be closed and improvised detours that added significant amounts of time. Additionally, various friends who’ve done this drive before assured me they’d never passed through any of the small towns I named, none of them! Not that I’m accusing anyone of anything.
Suddenly, all I could hear was my mother’s voice telling me “I’d never be as good as my brother,” and that’s how I ended up telling you that you’d never be as good as my brother’s GPS.
Finally, my partner pointed out how my gloating that we cut 3 minutes off your estimated time of arrival might have been offensive. I wasn’t exhilarated because I triumphed over a piece of technology that repeatedly failed in the one task it exists to carry out nor because I had a reassuring epiphany that in a battle of machine vs. humans, humans might stand a chance after all. No, I was simply titillated that we arrived at 4:30 on the dot instead of 4:33. I promise.
I know I’ve apologized 127 other times, but I mean it, this is the last time I’ll have to do so. I swear it. It’s been made very clear that my relationship depends on it.
Sincerely yours,
Your driver
