yesterday my lyft driver had a gps that read off directions in what was obviously some sort of specific customized voice
so i was like ‘hey, why does this sound familiar?’
and he was like ‘oh i downloaded it special. it’s colonel sanders.’
never in my life had a stranger thrown me such a goddamn conversational curveball.
was this an official branded piece of content marketing by kfc? why? why would you go to the trouble of auditioning and hiring a voice actor to impersonate your now-dead founder guiding people onto the i-95, like the world’s least interesting benevolent spirit? colonel sanders was a real dude who is now dead; that is a flipping weird thing for a company to spend money on. is this some misguided corporate attempt to try to revamp his image, like ‘yeah he was a plantation-y southern gentleman and symbolically there’s no way it’s not at least a little racist to glorify him but look…he did just help you get to ikea’
on the other hand, if it’s not affiliated with the company that raises SO MANY MORE questions, like who did this? does colonel sanders have some sort of underground fan community? was there a forum somewhere on the internet where colonel sanders die-hards were all wistfully expressing their longing to have that fried chicken guy’s voice drawling in their ear during long road trips and then finally one lone man stepped forward to fill that gap with a microphone, a dream, and a sub-par fake southern accent
what i said was, ‘…huh’
‘i had t-pain’s voice for a while but it got old really fast,’ said my driver
‘turn right,’ said colonel sanders
‘mm-hmm,’ i said
‘there’s a traffic camera up ahead,’ said colonel sanders. ‘if anyone asks, i was with you last night.’ then he chuckled, in a warm, folksy manner.
i realize this probably sounds like some sort of twisted postmodern tumblr joke, but no, these were the actual pre-recorded words the actual app said.
‘did your gps just jokingly imply colonel sanders committed a murder yesterday and needs an alibi,’ i asked.
‘what?’ said the driver, changing lanes. ‘yeah i guess.’
never in my life had a gps thrown me such a goddamn conversational curveball
like. was it a gps at all, or some sort of experimental new form of fiction, an avant garde crime story delivered in tiny dribbles in and among every hundred navigational tips? but no, if so we are talking some TRUE UNSOLVED MYSTERIES shit, because why the fuck is your dark antihero colonel fucking sanders?
was it a gps at all, or was the deceased wing-and-drumstick magnate now a vengeful ghost and my driver a bold and resourceful ghost-hunter who somehow managed to trap that malignant specter inside the car and bind the colonel’s will to his own and then use that will to get us to the airport via the most efficient available route?
either way, the driver did not divulge his secrets. the colonel droned on. the ride ended. the car drove away and still the truth eluded me, slippery as greased corn.
somebody call a paranormal investigator because we have a lot of shit to work out
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