Sunday, July 25

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So my love of all things Apple is well documented, but I had a terrific run-in with the Apple Store last week.

My new iPhone arrived. As a side note: Fuck the 'death grip' douches. It works just fine.

But I noticed that when I held the phone, the back clicked, suggesting a small air pocket inside the phone.

So I went in to the store, to get a Genius appointment ...

... they have iPad clad meeters and greeters at the Genius bar. Your usual expectation - failed Computer Science grad, who thinks the blue t-shirt is a green light to act like a bi-polar emoticon. Happy face ... douchebag ... helpful ... passive aggressive tool ...

So. I kick off with, "Hi, I'd like to make an appointment with a Genius".

The 2nd syllable of appointment was still coming out, when the Genius Gatekeeper began walking towards the bank of iMacs, "You need to log into doubleyou doubleyou doubleyou dot apple dot com forwardslash cambridgeside ....

My reason for writing this out somewhat phonetically is to demonstrate how fucking asinine it is to speak a full blown URL while walking through a store, while you are holding a device primarily invented to bring the internet to your fingertips.

"I know the URL, and I know I can register myself, but I though I'd come in and interact with a human", I said, rather twattishly.

"Yeah, but it's just easier to do it over here"

"You cannot do it on your little iPad?". Yes I know that inserting little was demeaning.

"It's harder"

"Really? It's harder for you to use your scheduling iPad, than for me to log into a public iMac in the middle of an Apple Store?"

Through gritted teeth he understood where I was going, and walked back to me, and used his iPad to make me an appointment.

In a humorous yet probably annoying fashion I held my iPhone to his ear and repeatedly clicked the back. "Hear that? Can you make it go away?"

"We can fix anything", he rather blithely replied.

Later a Genius did indeed cure the clicking ...

... for 24 hours until it came back again.

I'm learning to like the click. It reveals me to be an expensive version of a nervous pen clicker.

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