Don't Aaargue with Pirates Who Give Directions!

Fake flowers on top of antennas used to work. But when car antennas disappeared, so did sensible low-tech solutions to a common problem: how to find your car in a parking lot. This dilemma is exacerbated by being over age fifty forty and by the fact that every damn car is taupe. Who came up with that color for cars? If your car is taupe, it has a permanent cloaking device. The color forecasters probably got together with the GPS geeks to devise a parking lot hell in which we all walk like zombies, dazed and confused. How to escape? Of course, we need to buy something. I think that's what GPS stands for: "Go Purchase Something." Something that would fit on a keychain. Something with a chip. Something like the pictured Bushnell Homing Device. It's available in lots of catalogs and even at Target. This gizmo helps you find your way back with an "easy-to-read arrow." No clicking your heels necessary.

Yes, GPS really stands for Global Positioning Satellite, and these gadgets somehow lock onto satellite signals that know where you are and where you've been and tell you how to get where you're going. Our kids gave my husband a "Tom-Tom" GPS for his car. We did have fun when he programmed it with a Pirate Voice, which told him to turn "starboard" or "head to port, Matey!" But eventually I began to arrrrgue with the pirate. My spouse soon unplugged the GPS, although I know he would have preferred to unplug me.

The Bushnell Homing Device sounds slick, but to me, anything with the word "compass" in its directions is terrifying. I simply pick out a landmark I can easily remember and park near that. Starbucks, for example. There has got to be at least one of those nearby. My internal GPSS, as in "Go Purchase Something Sweet," always directs me. Mocha Frappuccino Light in summer; Gingerbread Latte in winter. Ah, sit in my taupe car and savor the sugar.

I confess, however, that it is demoralizing when you can't find your car. This summer the Von's checkout guy was helping me with my cart. Here was this teenager following me, and I couldn't find the car. After about 20 minutes of circling the aisles and stammering with embarrassment, I finally located my taupe Camry, parked next to several other taupe Camrys. The kid took pity on me and said, "Don't feel bad, lady. Yesterday I walked a woman around for a lot longer. Then she remembered she didn't drive here at all. She walked." Do I need the personal homing device so I won't become that lady?