Technology will take you anywhere.
Even if you act like an asshole.
Even if you act like an asshole.
You Have Reached Your Destination by Kurt Newton
Where do you
wanna go now, Frankie?
"What the
hell is this?" The look on Gina's face was as if Frank had invited another
woman along on their ride.
"It's my
new GPS. Well, not new. I got it second-hand at Sammy's Discount Electronics.
Get in."
Gina slipped
into the passenger seat and closed the door. "So, where are we going? Or
should I ask her?"
C'mon,
Frankie Wankie, let’s move! I need to feel the wind in my hair.
"Seriously?
What the hell kind of GPS talks like that?" Gina said.
"I don't
know, babe, must be a limited edition or something. It gets me where I want to
go, that's all that matters. And if it's got a sexy voice—hey, nothing I can do
about that." Frank raised his eyebrows and grinned at Gina as he pulled
away from the curb.
In half a
mile, hang a louie.
This elicited another
eye roll from Gina, but she had other things on her mind. Last she knew, she and
Frank were basically over. "So, what's this all about, Frank? I thought I
made myself clear. After you stood me up last night, there's nothing more to say."
"Well, I
thought I'd make it up to you. Take you to a nicer joint uptown. Maybe go out
dancing afterwards."
"Look,
Frank—"
In 500 feet,
turn right. And don't forget to signal, big boy.
Gina threw her
hands up. "Do we have to listen to this?"
"Hey, you know
how bad I am with directions. I need her. Just like I need you."
Gun it,
Frankie, before the light turns. Oh, yes, that's it, baby.
"Did she
just call you baby?"
"You're not
jealous of a voice on a GPS, are you?"
All Gina knew
was this was getting a bit too weird for her liking. "I'll tell you what,
Frank, just take me home. This was a mistake. We're through."
"You don't
mean that."
Turn right
onto 16th Street.
Frank continued
to follow the GPS's directions.
Gina tried to
keep the panic out of her voice. "Stop the car. If you're not going to
take me home, just let me out here."
Continue onto
Rockaway Parkway South. Don't stop, Frankie, don't stop.
"Frank?"
Gina eyed the GPS.
Frank had seen
that look before. It was usually right before Gina took action to stop whatever
it was that was annoying her. But then that's why he loved her.
"Frank!"
"Okay,
okay." Frank slowed and pulled to the curb. "Let me take you
home."
"No."
Gina got out of the car.
Frank leaned
over in his seat. "When will I see you again?"
She shook her
head in disbelief and shut the door without answering.
Frank watched
her walk to the nearest street corner. In no time, a cab appeared, swallowed
her up, and swept her away. He pulled a half-empty bottle of whiskey out from
under his seat and drank until it was empty. Now what? he thought.
C'mon,
Frankie, let's move. We don't need her. It's just you and me now.
He was too upset
and depressed—not to mention, a little bit buzzed—to pick up on the GPS's
"unusual" friendliness. He stared at the empty whiskey bottle and
tossed it onto the passenger side floor mat. He turned his attention to the GPS
and punched in Points of Interest. He found the nearest bar and hit Go.
In one mile,
turn left onto Sabin Street.
"Now we're
talking," Frank said aloud as he pulled away from the curb, anger
replacing his momentary sad sap feeling. "Bitch."
What's that,
Frankie?
"Women.
They're all bitches. They don't know what they want, but they want everything.
Nothing's ever good enough. Can't please them. No way, no how. Why do I even
try?"
That's not
true, Frankie. I know what I want.
"What's
that?" he asked. Then he caught himself. "Christ. I'm talking to a
stupid machine. If only all women were like that. Just tell them what to do and
they do it.
In five
hundred feet, turn left.
Frank did as
instructed and at the same time failed to pick up on the irony. He was taken to
a part of the city he'd never been. He could almost see the stars up in the
night sky. He saw what looked like warehouses on one side of the street and
nothing but open space on the other. The ocean?
"This
doesn't look right," he said.
It's okay,
Frankie, just drive. We'll be there in no time.
"Stupid
machine." Frank laughed. The whiskey he chugged earlier swirled in his
brain.
In one
hundred feet, turn right. Turn right.
"Okay,
okay!" Frank turned the wheel and rolled into a narrow alley between two
buildings. There didn't appear to be anyone in sight, let alone a bar where he
could get hammered and forget his troubles.
You have
reached your destination.
Frank rolled to
a stop. "Perfect," he said. The alley opened up onto a garbage-choked
backlot of loading docks and refuse containers.
You have
reached your destination.
"I heard
you the first time, you stupid piece of shit." He pounded his fist on the
GPS and knocked it off its pedestal. The GPS screen landed on the passenger
seat, disconnected from its cord. However, the miniature screen still glowed.
Goodbye,
Frankie, it said before
shutting down.
From out of the
shadows approached several figures. One held a crowbar, another a baseball bat.
Before Frank
could put the car in reverse, the side window burst in a shower of pieces and
he was pulled from the car.
"Hey, wait!
This is a mistake! I'm not supposed to be here!"
Frank's calls
for help were swallowed by the night as he was unceremoniously beaten and left
in a lifeless heap.
