Come home, TomTom

All I can think about today is my missing TomTom charger. Which means all I'm going to write about today is my missing TomTom charger.

Here's the deal. That TomTom and I have been through a lot. A few summers ago, I made an epic road trip from good ol' Michigan to Seattle. Coast to coast. Alone. Did I mention I planned this road trip in oh, two days?

The first day was brutal. I stopped somewhere in the middle of Illinois after getting on and off the same highway exits for about 45 minutes (Literally. When I realized I was just going in circles on the same clover-shaped highway exit paths I broke out in instant tears.). I pulled into a CVS and called my boyfriend at the time, sobbing. Straight up sobbing. 

"I can't do this," I blubbered, "Everything is really hot and fuzzy and I don't feel good and I just feel like I'm gonna pass out. And I'm clammy. And I have a fever. Oh my god I think I'm sick. Oh my god. How can I do this?"

"Autumn," he said calmly, "Is your AC on?"

Oh. Remember that summer? The great summer of country-wide heat wave when the electric companies literally shut off power for a few hours each day because they were overheating their machines? You know, that one. I had been driving in that god-awful heat wave (97 degrees at the time?) for four hours with no AC. 

Once I got the AC on, I made my second mistake of the day by hitting the 'refresh' button on my iPhone map. Insert fresh round of sobbing when my map and directions completely disappeared because I was in the middle of nowhere and not connected to the right network (who goes on a cross-country road trip with just their iPhone?!?!?!). This time, I called my parents sobbing who insisted that I stop at the next major town and get a real GPS. The next major town: Hannibal, MO. 

Every stereotype you have ever heard, and more. I pulled over at a gas station and interrupted the female cashier (missing four teeth, leather skin, smoker voice) and a nice young man (missing one tooth, freckled skin, cowboy hat) chatting.

"Excuse me," I said. "Do you have a Best Buy around here?"

"A what?" she said.

"A Best Buy? You know...like a technology store." She stared. "I need to buy a GPS? I'm taking a road trip?"

"Ohhhh...no we ain't got one of those anywhere around here. But we do have a WalMart. They should have most everything you need."

I took down some directions from her and was about to leave when she literally jumped up on the counter, reached over, and grabbed my necklace "Wellll lookeeeee here!" she shouted, "That right there is a real pretty necklace! I've never seen such a thing before!"

Now I don't know about you, but after driving for four hours with no AC, getting lost countless times, and pulling into the world's sketchiest gas station in America's most poorly named city, the last thing your heart needs is some woman you've never met grabbing at your necklace. Surprisingly, she genuinely did just want to compliment my crucifix (praise Jesus!) and send me on my way with well wishes. In the end, I got my TomTom and everything after that was relatively smooth sailing.

The point is, TomTom, I went through a LOT to get you, and I can't quit you even though sometimes you try to be a straight up biatch and send me into the middle of nowhere Wyoming (still hatin' on that, yep). And now, you're gone from me. I have a road trip this weekend across four states, and I need you. I need you, boo. I can picture you shivering, alone and cold, in my ex-boyfriend's mother's car. I hope she treats you right. Do you hear me calling for you TomTom? Do you think we could organize a trade? Bottle o' wine for my TomTom? We could have a nice little chat and bitch about our mutual hatred of PTLs? TomTom, come home.