Just Thinking: Roadside assistance is no match for today's car apps
A roadside rescue company has approved me as a customer. Considering that I hadn’t asked to be approved and had never heard of the business, I was surprised.
I wonder if the company realizes the risk it’s taking. If I weren’t already protected by at least three other roadside assistance plans, it might actually have to rescue me, under heaven knows what harrowing circumstances.
It’s true that I haven’t been in automotive peril recently. I’d like to think age and wisdom have teamed up to give me a quiet confidence about such complex subjects as which way is west and why the emergency flasher button always eludes me.
Most likely, though, I’ve been protected by the dazzling internet application called GPS, or sometimes just “Maps,” a simplification for people who persist in thinking “GPS” stands for Geopolitical Services, or Grand Piano Suite or something to do with gerrymandering protection. A person can know better but still have to think every time, and by then you’ve missed the exit.
Internet road directions may be the miracle advancement of the century. Of course, the century is young, but when I hear that friendly voice saying, “Go through this light, then at the next light, turn left,” I’m as thrilled as I imagine Gutenberg was when his printing press actually worked.
Speaking of printing, it was amazing enough when people printed driving directions. We thought that was life-saving. Now the idea of scrabbling for page 2 of a stapled list while your car is approaching a roundabout seems like using the Rosetta Stone to find driving directions to Alexandria.
Just Thinking: Relaxing approach to each day is quite the rush
No wonder I slid so easily into using web mapping platforms. And yes, I just learned the term “web mapping platforms.” Who could resist an application that makes travel so easy? No more opening a paper map, closing it again because you don’t want New Hampshire – you want Ohio – and, having located the proper map and map quadrant, folding it so you can squint at the tiny lines and symbols and deduce you’re traveling in the wrong direction? Perfect.
Instead, that pleasant voice says, “In 7 point 5 miles, turn right on Alcott-Townley-Magpie Road.” Should you miss the road name because you were thinking deep thoughts or perhaps singing along with the Hollies (“Saturday night I was downtown …”), no worries because she repeats the directions, without audible resentment. And then, right there at Alcott-Townley-Magpie Road, she’ll say sweetly, “Turn right. Your destination is on your left.” For good measure, and not because she thinks you’re a nitwit, she’ll add a congratulatory, “You have arrived.”
We have indeed arrived in an age of being able to get places without sobbing, marital spats or little pieces of torn highway map littering the car. The future is glorious.
Anyway, about this rescue company. It once was a fine feeling to know if you wound up on a dark country road with an empty gas tank and phosphorescent greenish blobs humming “The Office” theme song floating toward you through the trees, you could do something: Your shaking hands could text the rescue people, and you could learn that you had no cell service.
I’m going to decline this company’s invitation, though, and by “decline,” I mean ignore and delete this email. Not that I’m not pleased to have made the cut, but roadside assistance can’t help me with the things I need when I’m on the road.
For instance, it can’t help me regain my radio station after the music stops and my screen announces my “accessory may not be supported.”
“Who cares? Shut up,” I’ll reply. (I never say “shut up” to anyone but my car’s screen, and it deserves it because it’s so annoying.)
“Warning! Device not connected!” the screen will say. Its tone suggests the next message will be, “Contacting 911 now,” so you’ll understand why I raise my voice.
“I don’t care! Bring back that woman in a black dress!” I’ll say.
And that’s just the beginning of our conversation. Can roadside assistance help me here? And can it help me when I’m sure I’ve turned off the rear windshield wiper but the wiper stays on intermittent, swiping every 10 seconds until it threatens to drive me nuts?
Well, can it?
Email margo.bartlett@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on ThisWeek: Just Thinking: Roadside assistance is no match for today's car apps
