SECOND THOUGHTS

I have celebrated a birthday since last we met, and as a result now sport one of those GPS virtual map doodads on the dashboard of my car.

Conveniently, it was on sale for about half its usual price, but that's only because the bottom has dropped out of the economy and one probably shouldn't be feeling giddy about such because possibly the person who sold it to us will be laid off before the week is out or, as was the case at a Wal-Mart in New York recently, trampled to death by shoppers eager for a bargain.

Let us take a moment to think about what that says about us as a society.

Besides, this gizmo is worth every penny at full price. Well. So maybe, unlike anyone else, I am sincerely directionally challenged and could, I swear it, get lost five blocks from home, which would throw me into a full-blown panic attack, which would mean I'd have to call Himself at work sobbing and half out of my mind, which . . . Where was I going with this?

Oh, right. GPS tracking thingamajig worth a bunch.

This is a worthwhile invention, no question, and a reason we should step up the teaching of science in our schools about a gahzillion notches, but I have one tiny suggestion for any future projects that involve a speaking voice: Employ a speaker who comes from the country the thing will be sold in.

I have named the virtual map woman in my car Indira, because I was a huge fan of Indira Gandhi and because the voice belongs to someone who obviously hails from India. Or maybe Pakistan; one or the other.

This is charming, some of the time, but not so much when it comes to pronunciation of a road such as Coburg, say.

Koh-burg, if that's what you're thinking, would be correct. Only "she" pronounces it Kobb-ehg. Seems like I'm being picky here, but when one is going 55 mph on the freeway (OK, so maybe I'm going 60), and Indira instructs me to take a left on Kobb-ehg, which is coming up any second now, by the time I figure out what she's talking about, I've missed the exit, am hopelessly lost and in a full-blown panic attack, must pull over and call Himself at work, sobbing and half out of my mind, and . . . Where am I?

Oh, right: tracking device with an accent. You see the problem.

This sort of thing, because we're outsourcing more and more jobs to countries where people are paid 17 cents an hour, seems to be happening a lot. Let me count the ways.

I was watching one of those infomercials on TV, about a book written by a guy who claimed the Food and Drug Administration was currently run by ex-CEOs from giant pharmaceutical companies, and this was the reason perfectly good herbal remedies for whatever plagues us couldn't get FDA approval. His book would tell us how to get and stay healthy without prescription drugs.

I wanted this book! I called the 800 number to order it.

"Allooo," said the woman who picked up the phone and who was either in India or Pakistan. "Ow may I hilp you?"

"I'd like to order the book by (author's name)," I said, overly enunciating and probably in a voice too loud, because for some reason that's what we tend to do with people who have accents.

"And vood you like to oodeh thee newsletter, alzo?"

It took me 15 minutes to try to convince her I only wanted the book, no newsletter, and would pay for it in one lump sum with my credit card, not monthly increments of $5.99. To this end and about eight weeks later, I received the book and a subscription to the newsletter, which would be billed in monthly increments of $5.99 for about as long as I live.

I suppose Indira and I will get along fine, as long as I go places I already know how to get to.

* Lynne Horner is a former Maui News features editor and writer who now lives in Springfield, Ore. Her "Second Thoughts" column appears every Tuesday. Send e-mail to her at lynnenhorner@yahoo.com.