You know how it is: you're having a grim and vicious day at the office – the workload's piling up, the mood's turning ugly and there's no end in sight - and somewhere between that afternoon's 18th and 19th nervous breakdown it hits you. It's that sudden flash of inspiration - that Eureka moment, that entrepreneurial epiphany – that bold and original and outrageous idea that could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams and offer you an instant escape from the rat-race.
Here's mine for today.
This afternoon, my ample-foreheaded workpal Dan was showing off his new gizmo, a satellite navigation system, or 'SatNav' for short. Now, I haven't got a SatNav myself and don't plan on acquiring one anytime soon. Maybe it's a combination of Catholic guilt, manic technophobia and hardcore sentimentality, but I just can't bring myself to trust any gadget that's designed to make life easier for me. For instance, years ago I could instantly remember dozens of phone numbers. Friends, family and local fast food delivery services all had their contact details stored away in a special compartment in my brain. Ever since I got a mobile phone, however, that region of my cerebellum has shrivelled-up and died. I now struggle to remember my own phone number, let alone anyone else's. Maybe there was a warning in the small print of the Vodafone contract. I don't know. I can't remember.
If that's what a mobile phone can do to me, I shudder to think of the horrible ways a SatNav could scramble what's left of my synapses. I might end up struggling to find my toothbrush unaided.But I digress. This afternoon - as I heard the female annunciator voice of Dan's SatNav give him clear and simple instructions on how to get to the nearest coffee machine whilst avoiding speed cameras and major roadworks - it struck me that there was something missing, something lacking. Her voice was cold, stern and metallic, the tempo brisk, efficient and flat. It was like listening to the HAL's dour nanny, KITT's insufferable sister and The Bride of Hawking all rolled into one. There was no sense of drama, no sense of bathos, no sense of passion. It was like she really didn't care.
And that's when the idea struck me like a basketball shoe across the eyes.
What if I could combine the functional convenience of the SatNav with an iconic, universally adored star of stage and screen who is the very personification of drama, of bathos, of passion? What if those instructions were delivered with a fierce intensity and subject to random feats of tempo modulation? In short, what if I invented a SatNav that sounded like William Shatner?
So, without any further ado, I'd like to present: 'The SHATNAV'.
By combining high-tech, state-of-the-art navigational technology with the mad voice of Captain Kirk, you'll know you're listening to a machine that'll DOUBLE-DAMN WELL make sure you get to exactly where you want to go. As your directions are delivered in that unique, staccato rhythm - Where. Every. Word. Seems to form... an urgent sentence - you can sit back, roll down the window, put your foot on the gas and "Boldly go… LEFT… at the next junction."
With the SHATNAV, even the most mundane school-run or shopping trip can become a pulse-pounding human adventure - a trek, if you will. "Easy as she goes, Mister Sulu" purrs the SHATNAV seductively as you approach those pesky speed cameras. "Space... the final parking space" it growls helpfully in that seemingly gridlocked Somerfield carpark. You'll laugh with joy and blush with embarrassment as the SHATNAV earnestly guides you and playfully chides you with other specially-adapted classic Captain Kirk-isms including "Like a… poor marksman… you just KEEP missing the EXIT!", "You Klingon bastard, there's roadworks ahead!" and "KHAAAAAAAAN!!".
SHATNAV – only $599.95 incl p&p
[TJ Hooker module sold separately]
Needless to say, I currently have no plans on giving up the day job.
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