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GET OUT OF THE HOUSE, THEY SAID
Today’s Crafts Are Tomorrow’s Garbage
How a 30-minute drive to a craft fair became a three-hour tour of Amish country without a map
I mean, I had a map. I had a map on my phone, which is functionally equivalent to not having a map.
All I remember when I bought my expensive new truck was “Something, something, China. Something, something, chips. Something, something, no GPS.”
To save you any anxiety, I did eventually learn how to connect my phone to the display in my truck, but only after yelling, “SIRI, SHOW ME WHERE I AM ON THE MAP!” approximately one million times and stabbing various screens with an, at times, cinnamon-sugar covered index finger (never mind that now).
But before I figured that out, all I could do was stare hard at my phone to try to burn the map into my brain (like Mark in Severance), or drive with one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand holding up my phone, which is both dangerous and illegal.
Neither method worked particularly well and I still overshot my destination — the Secrest Arboretum — by about 50 miles and a brief stint on a highway, which immediately gave me a panic attack.
