Crapquest

Many of the wonders of modern technology come with unfortunate drawbacks when you really get down to it. Mobile phones allow you to call people at your convenience, but also allow any dickhead who can dial a number to call you. Wireless internet and e-mail means you're never away from work. And Mapquest gives you line by line directions to anywhere, but they don't fucking work.

I was up in New England this week; unlike the rest of the people there I did not make a special trip to look at the "fall foliage". Instead I went for meetings and, well, meetings. The hotel was a beautiful place out in the middle of fuck-knows-where and the lazy-arsed secretary who made the arrangements gave us directions using Mapquest. She could have called the hotel and asked for directions but that would have resulted in directions that actually enabled us to find the hotel, so where would the fun have been in that? Similarly we headed out one evening to a restaurant in Vermont which was supposed to be 30 minutes away. About ninety minutes later, after detours, U-turns, asking directions at a crappy motel and driving over three separate lawns (don't ask) we arrived at the restaurant and I vowed that the very next person who gave me a set of Mapquest directions would be experiencing them ten seconds later as a papery suppository.

I know people go on about how wonderful they are, and compared to, say, taking bearings from the sun, they are probably pretty good. But the thing about driving is that it's all about landmarks, and knowing where to turn. Hotels, restaurants and other such establishments have a very good incentive to give you excellent directions because if you don't arrive you won't spend any fucking money, so why not ask them, rather than trusting to a computer algorithm that includes two non-existent turns when the road is actually dead straight?

The other visitors to New England clearly had no need of directions because they arrived in a sodding great coach, all bringing enough cases of luggage to last a normal human being about eight months. There must be a gene for "dull as fuck" and these people clearly inherited it; I think some of them had two copies. If I ever turn into the kind of person who goes on coach tours to New England in a plaid shirt and tan pants, I can only hope that the coach drives over a cliff and bursts into flames, thus putting me out of my misery.

And you know what? If the driver's using directions from Mapquest it would be entirely possible.


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison