Back in the day before I had a GPS, I had a Jean-PS. That is to say, my wife, Jean, would position us on our way. Back in those days, my car was a Ford F-100 pickup truck without any air conditioning other than our rolled-down windows.
The air coming through tended to make the map flap and hence to be a little hard to read. When we’d been married a couple of years, we had our first daughter, whose car seat was lodged between us just above the stick shift on the floor.
This wasn’t always ideal.
Once in Austin, I’d gotten lost and confused and had made a right turn on red in a place where that was not allowed. A cop pulled me over. Jean had the map open, and eldest daughter was screaming her head off when the cop walked up to the open window. He looked at Jean with the map, heard the child’s mournful wails, and with pity in his heart gave me directions to where I was going —without giving me a ticket. A GPS doesn’t have that sort of effect on our men in blue.
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