Nav Nuts

After writing a recent article about car navigation systems and the amazing technology that enables them to function, I got to thinking about the little voices these devices employ to give verbal directions. For example, on ours there is a very British-sounding lady. She has such a regal affectation, I almost feel like it’s the Queen giving the orders.

“One should command one’s vehicle to turn left at the next intersection,” she instructs. “Oh, and DO be sure to indicate ….. or we shall NOT be amused!”

This got me thinking about some possible alternatives to this voice … as well as some creative new product ideas.

For example, we could have ‘Nav Bloke’. He has the voice of an Ocker and gives instructions like: “Hey Chooka, why doncha hit the skids at the red loight, mate? Then hang a lefty at the pub on the corner. Bewdy.”

I can see Nav Bloke being very popular amongst the local lads.

Then there could be Nav Kid. This one would be a hit with the small fry because, rather than containing boring stuff about roads and adult destinations, it would only contain global positioning information for fast food outlets and toy shops.

The voice will shriek; “Stop the car, Mum! So and so (insert annoying sibling’s name) is hitting me! I need to go to the toilet! I’m hungry! I wanna buy a new X Box!” If nothing else, this device would minimise the length of time that parents are willing to spend driving, thus reducing global warming. See, how eco-responsible are we at our new Naf Nav factory?

But wait; there’s more! Just to save us girls a bit of work, we could have Nav Nag, which would sound something like this: “I TOLD you to turn left at the last corner, Geoffrey! Now you’ll have to turn right, make a detour to pick up my mother, run the kids to basketball and bring home something for dinner! (Gee, I’ll bet Geoffrey can’t wait for THAT one to hit the market!)

Of course, we shouldn’t overlook the older members of society when marketing our new line of car navigators. Nav Gran will not only ask our senior citizens where they need to go (and if they’re absolutely sure about that), but it will also send them back inside to get their glasses, turn off the iron and put the cat out … before it even allows the car to leave the driveway!

Or for those who prefer a little Zen, what about New Age Nav. As you approach a chaotic intersection, a serene voice accompanied by pan pipes and the sound of rolling waves will waft peacefully across the airways. The voice will eventually murmur; “Just let go. MMMMMMM. Take a deep breath and eeeeeeze right. Just drift along and let your inner chakra guide you.”

Then, lastly, for nostalgic Baby Boomers, there will be Hippy Nav. It will come in a jaunty little plastic case covered in flowers and peace signs and the drawling voice will say; “Hey, man. What’s your hurry? We’re all on a road to nowhere, man! Slow down; smell the roses; feel the love. Peace man.”

I don’t know about you, but I feel better already.

Not safer. But better.

Vanishing Women

Just a few weeks ago, I was lamenting in this column that my teenage son was having trouble recognizing me in photographs. Apparently, he confessed, he had never ‘actually looked’ at me before. Hurtful as this was, I have forgiven him and moved on. (Well, almost, although I have banned him from using my car for a couple of weeks. After all, if he isn’t exactly sure who I am, he shouldn’t be borrowing my car, should he? Stranger Danger and all that…)

Well anyway, I am beginning to discover that this apparent invisibility is not only confined to me. In fact, forty-something women across the country are probably nodding their heads furiously as they read these words. They know what it’s like to become suddenly inconsequential.

Where once we pulled admiring glances, we now find people peering around us to check out the young beauty behind us. Where once a smile could facilitate queue-jumping, today we just head for the back of the line resignedly. Where once we might have smiled and waved when a car horn tooted at us, today we quickly check that our skirt isn’t tucked into the back of our knickers. And where once people would marvel and say “Gosh, you don’t look (insert approaching middle-age number)!” now they just nod and mutter, ‘Mmm. Yes. Those wrinkle creams really are such a waste of money, aren’t they?”

A heightened appreciation of this phenomenon came the other night when dining out with a group of girls (the more mature variety) and being totally ignored by the waiter for the first half hour. I swear we could have tap-danced naked on the table and he wouldn’t have given us more than a cursory glance. (Although doubtless there would have been some complaints from the other tables — something about putting them off their food — which might have brought the good man sooner).

Well, anyway, we discussed this matter of being unobserved, my invisible friends and me, and agreed it is becoming more and more noticeable. It seems they too have been suffering the curse of being overlooked, dismissed and ignored. And not just by their spouses, kids, bosses and pets either! They noted a distinct lack of interest from everywhere.

We Baby-Boomers, it seems, are, well … plain boring, to the younger set. Apparently we don’t deserve to dress groovily, be well fed or even have our views heard. In fact, if we had any dignity at all, we probably should just cover up, pay up and shut up!

But like every other hurdle our generation has ever encountered, there is little chance of us capitulating to the scourge of mature-age-invisibility. We wanted sexual freedom — we got it. We wanted no-fault-divorce — we got it. We wanted to be rock stars forever — we got it. (Well, okay, it was actually Mick Jagger who got it, but there’s no way we are going to tell him he’s too old because that means we’re old too!)

Yes, we BBs like a challenge and we will rise to it. We have been changing things from the sixties and we aren’t about to stop now.

So, what can we do to change this trend towards obscurity?

Act up. Misbehave. Break the law. Don’t pay your bills and definitely don’t lend your car, money or cooking skills to anyone under thirty.

Would we still be invisible then?

I don’t think so, Tim.