Global Position Systems: A curse or a blessing?
Scrubs, Scrubettes - How are ya!?
Take it from yer Uncle Scrubbie - yer gonna need somethin' to drink and yer gonna need a chair. Go ahead - I'll wait. By the way - that drink... make it a double.
Ok, back? Good.
Hurricane Rona. Gawd lov'er. It's not like she goes out looking for adventure. It always just kinda comes to her. Know what I mean? Oh - sure - somewhere in there it IS her fault. But, in an ever winding twist of fate, it's not her fault. I can't explain it - I gave up trying oh so many years ago.
Before we get into it... there's always somethin I gotta set up. Today - yep, no different.
Hurricane - she's a bit like Scrubbie. But, aren't we all? Directions. Gettin' from here to there. Like Scrub - not the sharpest stick in the bunch when it comes to figurin' out left, right, left. Scrub - seems to end up in other cities or in the middle of a field when headin to the local trading post. But, since GPS - I tell ya, the incidents of finding myself calling the Wife and sayin "Hunnneeeeee - I don't know where I am" has dropped considerably. I got this little magic box of directions in the car with a smokin hot voice that just tells me "left turn in 1 kilometer" and so forth. Awesome. When I accidentally miss the turn - doesn't get snippy with me. Doesn't call me a dope. No - just announces that she is "recalculating route". Love it.
Hurricane was off to visit gal-pals last weekend. Gal-pals that were off in another burb here in the Great White. So, Hurricane, recalling tales of Scrubbie makin' it to somewhere and back again without so much as a single panic moment of "where the frack am I?" told Scrub that she wanted the magic box of directions to assist her in her trek 'cross country. Good idea Hurricane! While you give me grey hair, I'd hate to see ya lost in the wilderness, never to be heard from again. Hurricane pops over, grabs the magic box of directions, and heads off into the sunset. Well - not really sunset, but it just makes for such a pretty picture, dont'cha think?
Then, came the phone call a short while later where Hurricane yells in the phone "Oh Gawd... I think I did somethin' wrong!" (she, in fact, was only about 10 mins from Scrub's igloo when that call came. Ya. Don't ask.)
Apart from that - all went well. The magic box of directions told Hurricane: Left, right, left, go straight... and so forth. Then... couple hours later... the magic box of directions announces "You have arrived!" WooHoo!
Hurricane hops out of her go-kart and goes struttin' up to the shack. Bursts open the door and yells "HI! Gotta pee!"
So far, so good, right? Not uncommon. Long trip. Gotta pee. Yep... so far, so good.
Whoops - wait a minute. This is Hurricane. The following conversation ensues:
Hurricane: Gee... lotta people here. Can't talk. Gotta pee. Where's the washroom?
Woman at the house who we shall henceforth simple call WOMAN: Just down the hall.
Woman: No problem. Ummmm - who exactly are you?
Woman: well... I'm just wondering... who are you?
Hurricane: Isn't this "Joan's" house?
Hurriane: Oh. I saw all the people and thought this was it.
Woman: No - we are all family. My father just passed away.
Woman: Yes - it's a wake. I don't know "Joan"
Hurricane: Oh. Soooooo... I guess I'm in the wrong house.
Woman: Yes. It appears so.
Hurricane: Wellllll.... I'll just go then. Don't worry about the bathroom.
Scrubbie had to explain to Hurricane that while the magic box of directions is a wonderful doo-dad to get you to a certain spot, and that it really is a magical box considering it does get you to that certain spot when you could end up ANYWHERE on the planet earth, it is always advisable to LOOK AT THE GAWDDAMND NUMBER ON THE HOUSE before barging in to tinkle!