Confessions Of A Shop Steward-Part 4: Mr.Singh And The Sat Nav.

February 28, 2016 3:47pm Published by Jules Smith in The Art Philosopher 15 Comments


Sat Nav’s are wonderful things. Wonderful in the fact that they’re programmed from Ordnance Survey maps and tell you where to go. Allegedly.

I sat in the office one bright, sunny morning, tucking into one of ‘Old Tuckers’ breakfast cobs, when I received a call from Mr. Singh. Mr. Singh is a quiet chap and he’d been on the road to the ‘Gateway of Wales’ to collect and fill his trailer full of of roast turkeys.

“I’m stuck,” he said.

“Stuck? What do you mean?” I asked with a mouthful of sausage and runny egg dribbling down my chin. There’s always some bright spark who spoils the attention needed to feast on such a morning delight whilst also analysing page 3 of the paper.

“I can’t go forward and I can’t go back,” he said.

“But you’re on the road to Abergavenny aren’t you? That’s a dual carriageway. How can you be stuck on a dual carriageway?”

“Yes but I followed the Sat Nav to this place.”


“Well I’m not on a road. I’m on some sort of track,” he said. “I really need help. When I say I can’t move, I mean, I can’t move.”

Senior management didn’t like the sound of this and the top dogs asked me to meet them at the given co-ordinates of Mr. Singh.

“Take a solo unit down there Brad and we’ll see what the hell is going on.” So, off I went on the road to Abergavenny.

Some while later I met up with an infuriated big cheese waiting in his company beemer.

“Now before we start, “ he said, “none of this gets leaked. No photos, no talking, no reports.” (Narrators note: oops…cue Jules Smith the rule breaker)

“O….K,” I replied with wariness.

“Get in the car,” he said.

We drove for a further fifteen minutes, the roads getting narrower and tighter until we arrived at Mr.Singh’s 40 foot artic, wedged down a farm track in-between a hill and two dry stone walls. Mr. Singh was stuck in his cab receiving a tirade of abuse from the local farmer waving his shotgun because he couldn’t get his sheep out.

I regarded the situation in utter disbelief and turned to the manager. “Why the fuck didn’t he stop? Why? How? “

The big cheese with all his ‘ever so clever’ qualifications couldn’t even answer that one but wore his opinion with the beetroot red exasperation of a man close to a heart attack.

In order to save Mr. Singh and stop any deaths from Farmer Ferocious, a building firm had to be called in with a bulldozer. The bulldozer had to dig out and level the ground in order for 600 ton of stone to be laid. This was just so we could actually get a crane to go down, lift up the whole rig and turn it around.

The cab was totally destroyed in Mr.Singh’s attempt to squash it into its current position along with a burnt out clutch. The write off cost the company £85 K.

Shop steward or not, there was no way of saving Mr. Singh who got fired on the spot and had to find other means of singing for his supper.


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Betrayed by the Nav…it happens.

I’m never comfortable seeing a turban and beard driving an 18 wheeler. Yes, you can chalk it up to cultural prejudice.

It does round here. Takes you down roads that lead to nowhere. Think that’s what happened to Mr. Singh though he should have known better. Maybe you’re right.

“Should have known better” sums it up.
There have loads of stories over the years of motorists getting stuck in rivers and driving the wrong way down the motorway because their Sat-Nav told them to.
Some people seem to think that having a Sat-Nav means you no longer need to have any common sense.

Agreed, Masher. Like people with reversing alarm monitors suddenly don’t know how to park. Muppets.

Egg, sausage and tits – that’s the English truck driver’s breakfast all right. This story should be serialised in The Sun. How do you feel when your sat nav says “Recalculating”, Jules?

Tits and fried egg! The British staple.

How do I feel? Well I’m sure you can imagine, hence asking me the question. I get annoyed. I know much better where to go. She doesn’t consider speed cameras, road humps and Sunday drivers. I talk to my Sat Nav, well more like argue. In fact I need to change the voice. My last car had a sat nav that I’d just yank out the glove compartment when I needed it. He had a nice male voice. Now I have this inbuilt, condecending woman who irritates the crap out of me. I much prefer having a man tell me what to do. (I’m sure Freud would have something to say about that) Another thing she does that annoys me is start yakking midway through my favourite songs. I’m part way through singing my head off and she turns down my track and says, “Turn slightly right” Not kidding, she did that the other day. And tells me more than once or twice – yeah I heard you, Fuhrer! What the hell is slightly right? Thing is, if I just look at the map and gag her, I forget, get sidetracked with how good I am at sounding just like Adele, go into auto pilot and forget where I’m going. So, I have to have her on and I know she’s taunting me, I know it.

Blimey, that answer was longer than my post. Don’t ask me questions! 🙂

How did they get my Sat Nasty on there?! Funny. Mine is just like that except she doesn’t say “I love you” to me. I however, do tell her I have a headache. *)

There have been instances where people have driven off cliffs because their sat nav told them to. I presume this is an work of fiction?

I nearly did that once but not because of my sat nav, even though she is capable of tipping one over the edge.

All true stuff. No effort on my behalf.

LOL! It’s only funny because people do stupid things like that before they stop to think. Bwahahaha!

I’m usually guilty of the same thing. I expect to meet my demise in Darwin style. 🙂

I can’t go forward and I can’t go back… Wait a minute, that about sums it up for me, Jules.

Oh I hear ya, my blue friend. Loud and flippin’ clear 🙂

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