Guy Walks into an Apple Store
Welcome to Apple — a place where Dr. Macintosh saves iPhones on the operating table, therapists console loved ones, and consultants educate Apple-users on the road that lay ahead.
Monday I woke up to a water-damaged phone. Beyond being annoyed that I’d have to plan a trip to the Apple store after work, I was largely unaffected — so I thought. Within minutes of my morning routine, I was over-taken by the nakedness of not having a functioning phone. In the thirty minutes it took for me to make coffee, get dressed, and brush my teeth, I forgot my phone wasn’t alive every single time I went to it for guidance; So began my short-lived iPhone rehab program.
My door-to-door commute is less than an hour. For the first time I can remember, there was no music playing during the short walk from my apartment to the train; on-board, there was no reading emails, scrolling through Twitter, or watching sports highlights; while during the ten minutes it takes me to walk from Grand Central, up five blocks to my office, I was forced to look at the buildings, streets, and faces I pass daily, only it felt like it was the first time I was actually seeing them. Throughout the day, I continued to reach for my phone before remembering there was nothing to see. As each subsequent hour passed, my iPhone-withdrawal symptoms diminished, so much so that, by the time I was ready to leave work, I considered delaying my trip to the Apple Store until the following day.
So much for wishful thinking. Right as I walked outside, I decided it’d be most convenient to visit the iconic store in Grand Central. Even most cynics would agree that it’s everything it’s chalked up to be — 23,000 square feet of retail space that overlooks and wraps around the main concourse of New York’s historic commuter station.
I ascended the East balcony and walked into the store — as much as one can “enter” an open retail space that has no doors, walls, or enclosed areas. I was approached by two Geniuses who asked if I had an appointment. My answer — “No” — was met with condescending looks of concern; not in a patronizing way, rather, an apparent lack of understanding as to how I could be so unprepared for what lay ahead.
I was led to a person with an iPad, who pointed me toward a techie with an iPhone, who told me to sit at a table and wait for assistance. Without a working phone to cure my boredom, I was forced to experience the day-to-day life at Apple Med. The girl next to me (we’ll call her Customer #1) was there to fix a cracked phone that was on the fritz. When her Genius brought over her new phone, she relaxed, only to grow agitated after finding out that it would take 2 hours to restore from her backup.
The Genius tried to engage in small talk, asking Customer #1 how her day was, followed by her giving a look that is usually reserved for a situation in which the same question is asked, only in a much dire circumstance, i.e. after having experienced a death in the family. Sensing her irritation, said Genius transformed into Dr. Macintosh, saying, “I know it’s been a long day, but I promise it will only get better from here.”
Across the table, Genius #2 was busy attempting to talk Customer #2 off the ledge. Customer #2 had the whole family in tow (iPhone, iPad, Mac) because he wasn’t particularly happy that his iMessages weren’t syncing across all three devices. Genius #2 was patient, telling him that it would be a simple fix, to which Customer #2 uttered, “That’s Fucking Bullshit.” It was a sensational response when you consider that his frustration was fueled by something as mundane as iMessages updating across all devices. The pure comedy of it all, though, was his unwavering belief that this could NOT be a simple fix.
Not to be all holier-than-thou, considering I too was in the same boat as my fellow Apple-heads, I couldn’t help putting things into perspective, perhaps due to having been without a phone for 24 hours. The way I saw it, Customer #1 found it incomprehensible that she had to wait for her new phone to backup. Nevermind that the only reason said wait time was not up to her liking, was simply because she deemed it necessary to store an endless collection of pictures, videos, etc. Meanwhile, poor Customer #2. How would he adapt to his three children, a la Apple products, being unable to speak the same language?
As my mind wandered, I was introduced to the techie who would serve as my Apple-God. Immediately after the words “water damage” exited my mouth, the jolly smile on his face was replaced with a look of solace. Conditioned to offer support in times of distress, Apple-God put his medical smock on, before cautiously asking me questions as if he were a doctor trying to understand my symptoms. After telling him I dropped my phone in the toilet, fished it out quickly, then dried it off, he served up the following inquires. “How long would you say it was in the water? How deep was the water?” I remained calm, until the clincher — “How high was the drop from your hand to the toilet?” It felt like I was getting punked. I decided to stop the role-play, being as up-front as I could be, saying, “Look, it’s dead. I just would like to get a new phone as smoothly as possible.”
Dr. Macintosh continued to coax me further. “There’s a chance that the water hasn’t made its way to the control panel…” at which point I tuned him out, his analysis reminding me of a conversation between the captains aboard the Titanic, post-iceberg. If the water hasn’t spread to the engine, we may have hope yet. And so, I was forced into the position of reassuring Dr. Mac that I was fine with giving up on my current phone; I felt like a doctor coaxing his partner after a failed surgery leaves a patient dead on the operating table.
Alas, Dr. Mac gave in, switching gears to become Mac the Salesman. He hurriedly set up my new phone, hours before Customer #1 would see any light at the end of the tunnel. On my way out, I walked past another phoneless soul who was greeted by a Genius. Just on cue, I overheard him say, “I’m so, so sorry”, while leading her back to an operating room, er, Genius Bar. I left with one slogan looping in my head — Welcome to Apple: Where no iPhone is left for dead, and no loved ones have to mourn alone.
