angelgazing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelgazing) wrote2010-10-18 10:56 pm
angelgazing) wrote2010-10-18 10:56 pm
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I've never seen the movies, but I'm pretty sure this is how Skynet started
Let me tell you the story of Me v. Machine
I was supposed to go to a state parktwo weeks ago today, in order to complete an assignment that's been doled out in my Environmental Biology class. I, being the closet redhead that I am, have feelings about things involving the outdoors that are--Well, let's just say that I am all for saving conserving nature! Yay nature! As long as I don't have to be in it. We can save it while I'm still inside on the internet away from the sun and the dirt and the bugs, right? Right?.
Anyway, the point here is that I'm not exactly all knowing about state parks--even those that are supposedly "just up the road". Furthermore, apparently the last twenty-five years have taught me nothing, and I still believe my mother when she tells me blatant lies like spinach will make you strong like Popeye, or your face will stick that way, or Santa doesn't love you anymore or oh, it's really easy to find.
After class, I set out on my journey slightly apprehensive, but with the feeling of--okay, no, I can totally do this and not end up reenacting a scene from Texas Chainsaw Massacre like last time; it will be fine. And here--here, my friends is where I really went wrong--I thought to myself: oh, if all else fails, I have a GPS. Text based communication doesn't allow me to give you those words in the eerie and ominous tone they truly deserve, so I'm going to have to ask you all to go back and read them again with that in mind. Maybe with an echo, or a fadeout, or some misleadingly cheerful music that tends to come with the phrase, "so a bunch of us are going to go party in a place with no cellphone reception all weekend where someone was maybe murdered once, but god, who can keep track of whether or not he's really dead." At the very least, a good dun, dun, duuun.
Got it? Excellent. Now let's switch tracks for a second.
My GPS is named Nancy. This name was chosen because it is very satisfying to scream in frustration. (Sorry, human!Nancy. I'm, huh, sure it's also fun to scream in other situations?) Frustrated screaming happens a lot, when we're together. Nancy, you see, is a bitch.
Our relationship has been rocky from the start, when I said, "Hey, let's see how you work when I already know where I'm going!" And she said, "Turn left here!" And I said, "... Ahahaha fuck no, are you crazy?" And she said, "Road closed ahead." And I said, "It really, really isn't." And she said, "Recalculating."
In fact, the vast majority of our time together can be summed up as such:
Nancy: *demands an impossible or misleading action*
Me: *swears violently*
Nancy: Recalculating.
You can see, I hope, why Nancy is a a last resort. The thing you turn to when you've got nowhere else. A thing for, well, if all else fails. (Dun dun dun.)
All the same, for this trip, out came Nancy. I tried to be nice. There was some stilted conversation. You know, the kind when you run into someone in the store that you don't really like, but don't have a good excuse to ignore? Yeah, that kind. "Hey, Nancy," I said, dusting her off, "let's have an adventure."
Nancy, because she is contrary, said, "Address not found."
This, for those of you still playing at home, is what I like to call a Bad Sign. A very bad sign. A tragically bad sign. After ten minutes of typing, retyping and searching, I find the correct map! The name is right! The street address is right! The town is wrong. The town, in fact, is very fucking wrong.
But I am not the sort of person to let a little thing like a totally different geographical location let me down. (As those who have traveled with me can attest.) I think, nah, okay, me and Nancy, we got this. You know those assholes who grab a baseball bat, head out into the woods thinking nothing's wrong and are never seen from again? Yeah, I'm pretty sure they think the same thing. Either way, I grab my metaphorical baseball bat, and I head to the motherfucking woods.
No, really. I head to the motherfucking woods.
Now, I am cruising along at a totally reasonably rate of speed, okay, totally reasonable, no matter what sort of difference may or may not be showing between my speedometer and the posted speed limit signs. And guys, listen, I live in the middle of nowhere. When I find myself on a stretch of road surrounded by nothing but fields, cows, and the occasional closed-down filling station--to be honest, it's not exactly an unusual occurrence. When I drive through an entire block of closed-down filling stations and secondhand shops and, oh a post office that may be functioning but is roughly the size of my bedroom, well, that's a little more unusual. Still not the creepiest tiny town I've ever driven through though, so I carry on.
And I carry on.
And I carry on.
And finally there is civilization! Like a light at the end of the tunnel I see a Simple Simon's and an insurance agent that seem to be in good working order. There's even a stoplight! Nancy says, "Turn right onto [blah blah blah]... then turn left."
I turn right. Despite what Nancy, and my mother, and maybe a couple of my professors, and probably Shai would tell you, I can follow directions. It's totally within my limited skill set, okay. It is. I turn right, I flip my blinker left thinking I am used to the games that Nancy tries to play with me and oh, oh, this time, this time I will not be beaten.
There is no left.
There is another insurance agent's office. I glare at Nancy, and she says, "Recalculating... Turn left onto [blah blah blah]." I flip my signal back on, and nearly get rear-ended by a fucking Tundra while making my turn. Nancy says, "Turn right."
I'm sure this is shocking to you, but there is no fucking right. There is a diner that looks like it hasn't been cleaned since sometime in the early sixties.
I do not drive into it.
Nancy says, "Recalculating."
Now, listen, I am not a stupid person. I'll admit it can sometimes take me a while to catch onto things. I never thought that attempted murder would be on that list. Now, already, already I am thinking I should drop my bat and run like hell, but no. No, I must persist! This assignment! It must get done! I carry on, determined!
I go straight, because I may not be a fucking outdoors genius, but I know some goddamn picnic tables when I see them and surely, surely that must be a hint, right? A step in the right direction? I totally know where I'm going, and apparently Nancy finally agrees, because she totally charts a course for me to head in that direction.
"Turn left," Nancy says, "Make a sharp left."
And I do!
The wrong way down a one way street.
Apparently the third time is the charm, because as what is possibly the same Tundra as before is heading toward me, I have no choice but to realize, finally, "Oh my fucking god, you are actually trying to kill me, Nancy, what the fuck? What. What the fuck?" As I throw it in reverse and nearly lose a taillight to picnic table I had once, in a simpler time, looked upon with hope. The Tundra honks, clearly saying, "You are so fucking stupid. Why are you out in the woods alone? Did you really see this ending well?"
Finally, I drive back the way I just came, across a very long, very narrow, very pot-holed bridge. I am dejected. The picnic tables lied to me, the park was not there! They offered me no real sense of direction! I have been mocked by a Tundra! I have been blind-sided by the betrayal of Nancy! And in my confusion, and mortification, and grief, I forget, for a moment, that the movie has changes. No longer are the shadows foring--no, the bad guy has been unmasked. There's the big twist, now it's time for survival, right?
Nancy says, "Turn left."
I'm still on the fucking bridge. But, oh, oh, it is on, now. I know her game! I will not be forced to play along! "Recalculating," we say together.
"Turn left," Nancy says, when the only thing left is a fence. "Recalculating."
In an act of defiance, I grab my phone and I googlemap this shit, because, I mean come on. This town has a population of like, 17 people. How hard should it be to find a goddamn state park? Nancy tells me to turn down Broadway, and I realize I am apparently in the only goddamn town in the country without a Broadway Street. Whatever, I will prevail, because by this time I've recast myself as the one who totally walks away only to probably get stalked again in the sequel if it does well enough at the box office. "Goddamn it," I say, "I will not let you win."
And the story isn't over, not really, not by a long shot. There's a golf cart, a waste treatment plant, and what I'm almost positive was an electric fence protecting a shit-ton of four wheelers. But I'm alive, and I've failed to do the assignment so I've got to do it all again tomorrow, and isn't that how all the horror movies end anyway?
Tomorrow though, oh, tomorrow, I am getting some fucking mapquest printouts. I will not go out unarmed. Not again!
I was supposed to go to a state park
Anyway, the point here is that I'm not exactly all knowing about state parks--even those that are supposedly "just up the road". Furthermore, apparently the last twenty-five years have taught me nothing, and I still believe my mother when she tells me blatant lies like spinach will make you strong like Popeye, or your face will stick that way, or Santa doesn't love you anymore or oh, it's really easy to find.
After class, I set out on my journey slightly apprehensive, but with the feeling of--okay, no, I can totally do this and not end up reenacting a scene from Texas Chainsaw Massacre like last time; it will be fine. And here--here, my friends is where I really went wrong--I thought to myself: oh, if all else fails, I have a GPS. Text based communication doesn't allow me to give you those words in the eerie and ominous tone they truly deserve, so I'm going to have to ask you all to go back and read them again with that in mind. Maybe with an echo, or a fadeout, or some misleadingly cheerful music that tends to come with the phrase, "so a bunch of us are going to go party in a place with no cellphone reception all weekend where someone was maybe murdered once, but god, who can keep track of whether or not he's really dead." At the very least, a good dun, dun, duuun.
Got it? Excellent. Now let's switch tracks for a second.
My GPS is named Nancy. This name was chosen because it is very satisfying to scream in frustration. (Sorry, human!Nancy. I'm, huh, sure it's also fun to scream in other situations?) Frustrated screaming happens a lot, when we're together. Nancy, you see, is a bitch.
Our relationship has been rocky from the start, when I said, "Hey, let's see how you work when I already know where I'm going!" And she said, "Turn left here!" And I said, "... Ahahaha fuck no, are you crazy?" And she said, "Road closed ahead." And I said, "It really, really isn't." And she said, "Recalculating."
In fact, the vast majority of our time together can be summed up as such:
Nancy: *demands an impossible or misleading action*
Me: *swears violently*
Nancy: Recalculating.
You can see, I hope, why Nancy is a a last resort. The thing you turn to when you've got nowhere else. A thing for, well, if all else fails. (Dun dun dun.)
All the same, for this trip, out came Nancy. I tried to be nice. There was some stilted conversation. You know, the kind when you run into someone in the store that you don't really like, but don't have a good excuse to ignore? Yeah, that kind. "Hey, Nancy," I said, dusting her off, "let's have an adventure."
Nancy, because she is contrary, said, "Address not found."
This, for those of you still playing at home, is what I like to call a Bad Sign. A very bad sign. A tragically bad sign. After ten minutes of typing, retyping and searching, I find the correct map! The name is right! The street address is right! The town is wrong. The town, in fact, is very fucking wrong.
But I am not the sort of person to let a little thing like a totally different geographical location let me down. (As those who have traveled with me can attest.) I think, nah, okay, me and Nancy, we got this. You know those assholes who grab a baseball bat, head out into the woods thinking nothing's wrong and are never seen from again? Yeah, I'm pretty sure they think the same thing. Either way, I grab my metaphorical baseball bat, and I head to the motherfucking woods.
No, really. I head to the motherfucking woods.
Now, I am cruising along at a totally reasonably rate of speed, okay, totally reasonable, no matter what sort of difference may or may not be showing between my speedometer and the posted speed limit signs. And guys, listen, I live in the middle of nowhere. When I find myself on a stretch of road surrounded by nothing but fields, cows, and the occasional closed-down filling station--to be honest, it's not exactly an unusual occurrence. When I drive through an entire block of closed-down filling stations and secondhand shops and, oh a post office that may be functioning but is roughly the size of my bedroom, well, that's a little more unusual. Still not the creepiest tiny town I've ever driven through though, so I carry on.
And I carry on.
And I carry on.
And finally there is civilization! Like a light at the end of the tunnel I see a Simple Simon's and an insurance agent that seem to be in good working order. There's even a stoplight! Nancy says, "Turn right onto [blah blah blah]... then turn left."
I turn right. Despite what Nancy, and my mother, and maybe a couple of my professors, and probably Shai would tell you, I can follow directions. It's totally within my limited skill set, okay. It is. I turn right, I flip my blinker left thinking I am used to the games that Nancy tries to play with me and oh, oh, this time, this time I will not be beaten.
There is no left.
There is another insurance agent's office. I glare at Nancy, and she says, "Recalculating... Turn left onto [blah blah blah]." I flip my signal back on, and nearly get rear-ended by a fucking Tundra while making my turn. Nancy says, "Turn right."
I'm sure this is shocking to you, but there is no fucking right. There is a diner that looks like it hasn't been cleaned since sometime in the early sixties.
I do not drive into it.
Nancy says, "Recalculating."
Now, listen, I am not a stupid person. I'll admit it can sometimes take me a while to catch onto things. I never thought that attempted murder would be on that list. Now, already, already I am thinking I should drop my bat and run like hell, but no. No, I must persist! This assignment! It must get done! I carry on, determined!
I go straight, because I may not be a fucking outdoors genius, but I know some goddamn picnic tables when I see them and surely, surely that must be a hint, right? A step in the right direction? I totally know where I'm going, and apparently Nancy finally agrees, because she totally charts a course for me to head in that direction.
"Turn left," Nancy says, "Make a sharp left."
And I do!
The wrong way down a one way street.
Apparently the third time is the charm, because as what is possibly the same Tundra as before is heading toward me, I have no choice but to realize, finally, "Oh my fucking god, you are actually trying to kill me, Nancy, what the fuck? What. What the fuck?" As I throw it in reverse and nearly lose a taillight to picnic table I had once, in a simpler time, looked upon with hope. The Tundra honks, clearly saying, "You are so fucking stupid. Why are you out in the woods alone? Did you really see this ending well?"
Finally, I drive back the way I just came, across a very long, very narrow, very pot-holed bridge. I am dejected. The picnic tables lied to me, the park was not there! They offered me no real sense of direction! I have been mocked by a Tundra! I have been blind-sided by the betrayal of Nancy! And in my confusion, and mortification, and grief, I forget, for a moment, that the movie has changes. No longer are the shadows foring--no, the bad guy has been unmasked. There's the big twist, now it's time for survival, right?
Nancy says, "Turn left."
I'm still on the fucking bridge. But, oh, oh, it is on, now. I know her game! I will not be forced to play along! "Recalculating," we say together.
"Turn left," Nancy says, when the only thing left is a fence. "Recalculating."
In an act of defiance, I grab my phone and I googlemap this shit, because, I mean come on. This town has a population of like, 17 people. How hard should it be to find a goddamn state park? Nancy tells me to turn down Broadway, and I realize I am apparently in the only goddamn town in the country without a Broadway Street. Whatever, I will prevail, because by this time I've recast myself as the one who totally walks away only to probably get stalked again in the sequel if it does well enough at the box office. "Goddamn it," I say, "I will not let you win."
And the story isn't over, not really, not by a long shot. There's a golf cart, a waste treatment plant, and what I'm almost positive was an electric fence protecting a shit-ton of four wheelers. But I'm alive, and I've failed to do the assignment so I've got to do it all again tomorrow, and isn't that how all the horror movies end anyway?
Tomorrow though, oh, tomorrow, I am getting some fucking mapquest printouts. I will not go out unarmed. Not again!