In fact, I sometimes turn the machine on even when I know exactly where I’m headed. Why? I’m not quite sure. Although the device drives me crazy, and I’m constantly complaining about it (see above), I also enjoy interacting with that posh British voice emanating from the gadget, as it mispronounces every street name and tells me to take the wrong turn. When I’m alone in the car, the stupid piece of plastic feels like a companion.
Also interesting: sick systems.