If only we had a GPS to guide us at our moral crossroads

The Hertz office was crowded with business travelers. "Anybody who doesn't need a GPS system can go first," the agent announced.

A bunch of the suits jumped forward, brandishing their TomToms and Magellans. I stepped into the non-GPS line, too. I had the Mapquest directions to my destination. I was fully capable of reading the standard highway map. What did I need GPS for?

Yet, when I got to the front of line, the Hertz agent let me know I was, in fact, in the wrong building. "I think you should wait for the GPS, dear," the rental car guy told me as he handed back my ID. "You're gonna need it."

I did. Within an hour I was in love with the thing. It could find my exit before I passed it. It could locate the only Starbucks in a 120-mile radius. Shoot, I was pretty sure the system would tell my mom where to find my body when I ran off the road and into a tree because I was messing with it while driving.

The more I used the GPS, the more I wanted one in my real life. But not for driving. In my normal life I do manage to wend my way to the high school and the commissary and Target on my own.

Nope, I want a GPS for the rest of my life. Wouldn't it be great to be able to program that thing so it would say stuff like, "Incredible bargain on perfect new house in four... point... five... miles."

Or, "Future spouse for sister approaching at... third... table... on... left."

Or even, "Major career mistake entered... Recalculating route."

This would be especially fabulous when conducting my moral life. Where TomTom allows patrons to purchase the voices of Burt Reynolds or Mr. T to deliver driving directions, maybe the moral GPS system could offer Charlton Heston or Morgan Freeman as the voice of God offering me specific moral directions.

"Points of temptation at your next exit... please drive by."

"Collection plate approaching on left."

My mother would point out to me that I do have the basic map already - my Ten Commandments, my general love-one-another directive. I ought to know right from wrong.

And she's right. These do cover the interstate quite well. I won't be driving off into stealing anything or killing anyone anytime soon.

Yet the moral landscape gets ever more complicated. Where my sixth-grade class was shocked and titillated by a contraband copy of George Carlin's "Seven Words You Can Never Say on TV," my kids hear equally bad words on TV during prime time and don't flinch.

Where my punishment for getting a hickey in 1983 was explaining to my mother how such a mark was administered, in 1998 I had to explain oral sex to my second-grader. And in 2008 I have to explain to my eighth-grader how oral sex really is sex. Really.

We get told all the time that our values can't come from the outside. That our inner values are the only things that matter. According to this particular school of thought, whatever I instinctively feel about following the speed limit or indulging in celebrity gossip or other touchy subjects (attending dog fighting, abortion, stem cell research, automatic sprinkler systems, surrogate parenting, immigration, medicinal marijuana, gays in the military, mixed-sex sleepovers) is the right way to go.

But, uh, I don't actually believe that. Surely I'd be better off with the voice of Freeman in my ear. "Profanity approaching in... two... minutes. Turn off 'Family Guy.' "

"Evil teen girlfriend approaching in three... point... six... days. Monitor son's behavior."

"All income not reported. Check addition or visit with auditor in... year... 2009."

While there are times when I do appreciate our ability to navigate the gray area of our moral lives, it is a lot harder than I thought. It takes greater effort to know where you are really going. It's harder to read the moral maps while flying along at 80 mph. Just once I'd like to hear that strong, assuring voice in my ear: "Entering construction zone. Make a legal U-turn in 5... 4... 3... 2... "

Jacey Eckhart, jacey87@mac.com