It was a beautiful Saturday morning when Mark decided to take a road trip. His destination? A little town upstate where he'd heard about a diner with "the best milkshakes in the world." He had no idea if the rumor was true, but the idea of drinking a milkshake that could change his life sounded like an adventure worth embarking on.
He hopped into his car, punched the diner's address into his GPS, and started driving. What could possibly go wrong?
The GPS, as usual, greeted him with its calm, robotic voice: "Turn left in 500 feet."
"Got it," Mark muttered, turning the wheel. "Nothing too complicated about this trip."
But, as the miles passed, things started to get... weird.
"Continue straight for 20 miles," the GPS announced.
Mark blinked. "Uh, okay," he said, glancing around at the empty road. "I mean, I guess that's normal."
But then, a few minutes later, the voice returned. "In 100 feet, perform a U-turn."
Mark slammed the brakes, almost causing a small pile-up behind him. "What? U-turn? I'm literally driving down a highway!"
The GPS was insistent. "Make a U-turn now."
Mark looked around, seeing nothing but miles of straight, empty highway ahead. "I'm not turning around! What is this nonsense?"
"Recalculating... Turn left in 200 feet," the GPS responded, as if nothing had happened.
Mark shook his head. "This is ridiculous. I swear this thing's gone rogue."
He ignored the GPS's instructions and kept driving straight. A few more minutes passed, and then the voice returned with even more urgency. "In 500 feet, turn into the parking lot. You have arrived at your destination."
Mark's eyes widened. He was in the middle of nowhere, with no signs of a diner in sight, just a dusty old warehouse that looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.
"No... way," Mark muttered. He pulled into the parking lot, which looked more like the set of a horror movie than a friendly diner. But the GPS was unwavering. "You have arrived at your destination."
He pulled up to a rusty sign with "Hank's Discount Warehouse" painted on it in faded letters. Mark had no idea how the GPS had gotten him here, but at this point, he figured it might as well finish the job.
Taking a deep breath, Mark checked the time. It was only 45 minutes into the drive, and he still had some hope of getting to the diner. He quickly input the diner's address again and drove off, leaving Hank's Discount Warehouse behind.
"Recalculating," the GPS said. "Take the next exit."
"Thank you!" Mark said aloud, feeling like he was finally getting back on track. He exited the highway, heading toward what he hoped would be a friendly, peaceful road.
And then, just as he thought he might actually make it, the voice came back. "In 200 feet, park in the middle of the road."
Mark's head whipped around. "What? No!" he shouted. He wasn't even in a residential area; there were no cars anywhere, just empty, straight pavement. "I'm not parking in the middle of the road!"
"Recalculating," the GPS said, as if it hadn't just asked him to commit a driving felony. "Turn right. Turn left. Turn right again."
Mark slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "I don't want to make three turns in a row, I just want to get to the diner!"
The GPS's voice lowered, almost soothing now. "Recalculating... recalculating... recalculating."
Mark muttered angrily under his breath, watching as the landscape around him grew increasingly ridiculous—he was now driving past a field with a suspiciously large number of cows, but still no sign of civilization. He began to question everything. Had the GPS somehow gained consciousness? Was it conspiring against him?
Suddenly, the GPS voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "In 200 feet, perform a full stop. Remain stationary for 10 seconds. Then proceed."
Mark's foot hovered over the brake. "This is the weirdest road trip I've ever been on," he groaned, but he followed the GPS's instructions anyway.
The car came to a complete stop, and for 10 solid seconds, nothing happened. No cows. No cars. Just an endless, quiet stretch of road. The seconds ticked by slowly, and Mark began to feel like he was in some kind of twisted driving simulator.
"Proceed," the GPS finally said.
Mark continued, now genuinely baffled. "You've got to be kidding me."
But the weirdness wasn't over. The GPS suddenly shouted, "Take a sharp left turn immediately!"
Mark swerved left so hard he nearly tipped the car over. He found himself heading straight into a cornfield, with stalks brushing against his car's windows.
"WHAT?!" he screamed.
"Proceed straight ahead," the GPS instructed calmly.
Mark looked around. The only thing in front of him was a giant scarecrow holding a sign that read, "You're almost there!"
"Is this a prank?" Mark muttered, now thoroughly convinced that the GPS had gone insane. He slammed the brakes, the car jerking to a halt in front of the creepy scarecrow.
Just as he was about to throw in the towel and call a tow truck, the GPS blared one final instruction. "In 500 feet, take a right."
Mark glanced to his right. There it was—The Diner—sitting on the corner, as shiny and welcoming as ever, complete with a neon sign that read, "World's Best Milkshakes."
Mark sighed in disbelief. The whole ride had been nothing short of a chaotic nightmare, and yet... there it was. He had arrived at his destination.
He looked at the GPS screen in awe. "You know what? I take it back," he muttered. "You're amazing."
The GPS beeped. "Thank you for choosing Apple Maps. Enjoy your milkshake."
Mark shook his head. "I swear, if I ever use you again, it's only to find the nearest exit."