i Have a iLove iHate Relationship with the Apple Store
Today I took a trip to the Apple store. Oh, the Apple store. It’s like a Dylan’s Candy Bar for adults. Like it’s namesake, in the Garden of Eden, or in the hands of Snow White’s evil stepmother, APPLE was so inviting… so enticing. There it was, in all of its overcrowded, minimalistic splendor.
People were taking courses on their iMacs, downloading apps on their iPhones, and buying $500 earbuds for their iPads. They were opening their iWallets and paying an iFortune for their iWare. The phrase, “there’s an app for that” echoed softly throughout the store. I was unable to find the source of this subliminal whisper, though I know there was probably an app that could help me. I walked toward the Genius Bar, aka customer service for Apple users, and was helped by quite the iLoser.
“iHello Ma’am, how can I iHelp you?” The i’s were silent, but I could tell they were implied.
“I have a problem with an old iPod and an iPhone. The iPod has a picture of an animated iPod on it, which appears to be deceased.” I do not lie. Apparently, when your iPod’s hard drive is corrupt, most likely from cavorting with a PC, a cartoon iPod man appears on the screen with a frown and x’s for eyes. Even in death there is some cute gimmick.
PC never cutely croaks, it just “crashes,” demanding hours of conversation with India. I actually felt somber looking into iPod’s lifeless eyes, like I should say a little something before recycling it.
“My iPhone only charges on docks like my iHome, and my iBose, but not my iUSB, or my iCar Adapter, or our iDogs or any of the other iParaphernalia I’ve spent my husband’s hard earned cash on.
“Well, your iPod sounds fickle,” said iFreud, explaining it in a way that would suggest my iPod’s problem was more personal than technical.
“Do you guys have an appointment?” he asked.
“Guys?” I said, looking around for someone that must have been hovering over my shoulder.
“You and your iPod,” he said, as if I had rudely discounted my iPod’s feelings.
“Well, being that my iPod’s so fickle, it’s no surprise that he’s also extremely picky about who we make our appointments with.”
“Just fill in this form,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Ummm, I see we have an appointment available next week.”
“I’m sorry, did you say next week? I can get in to see my OBGYN before that, and he’s busy,” I said winking at iNerd. Who probably doesn’t speak to women about gynecologists, or anything else for that matter.
“You can’t see my iPod till next week? We don’t live nearby and…wait, what’s that iPod? Oh, right. Listen, I don’t want to offend you, iPlato, but iPod is iPissed.”
“Well, we have two convenient locations to accommodate you. Just fill in a time that works, and I’m sure a Genius here at the bar will be happy to assist,” he said, respecting iPod’s space, and also looking at me as if I were insane.
“iPod, you what? You don’t think he should be allowed in the Genius Bar? No, iPod I will not ask iDork his iQ.”
“You’re a PC aren’t you?” the iTwerp asked me, with a derogatory tone as if it were a racial slur. If I were a Mac I would obviously appreciate the simplicity of the system and the ease of making an appointment.
“No, well, yes. I’m a switch hitter.” I said proudly. He sneered at me the way Drago Malfoy would before, groaning “Mudblood,” through gritted teeth.
“Why, are you going to try to convert me?”
“Nope, there’s an app for that!”
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