I’ve fallen into the popular fiction trap. As soon as I saw the movie was coming out, I asked Sean for The Girl with Dragon Tattoo book series for Christmas. I know, I know. It’s not exactly Shakespeare, but 150 pages in, I’m pretty interested. The premise is that a disgraced Swedish journalist is called in to help investigate a murder by the victim’s almost dead uncle. An off-kilter investigator is also called in at some point, but I haven’t reached that part of the novel.
After just finishing a life-story with Olive Kitterdige, this book is an interesting breath of fresh air–the mystery, the foreign world (both in terms of location and topic), the off-beat characters, etc. I can’t wait to read more of it, and I may consider giving up my pre-workout naps after I get off to get further along in the book!
In other news, Pudge, the ever-hungry catasaurus rex managed to nibble the 9 key off my keyboard last week. Given all the Christmas hubbub, I decided to wait till after the holiday to make a visit to the nearby Apple store to have them fix the broken spring on the back of the key. If the spring hadn’t been broken, Sean could have fixed it in 30 seconds. Instead, Pudge insisted that if he was going to tear the key off the computer, he was going to do it right and make sure we couldn’t put it back on by ourselves.
Sean made an appointment at the Apple store the week before New Year’s Eve, but by the time the appointment rolled around, I was not in the mood to subject myself to a mall full of shoppers eager to return gifts that didn’t suit their tastes. Since I had the day after New Year’s Day off, I decided to risk the crowds to get my key replaced. It was pretty annoying not being able to type my zip code!
We made an appointment for 3:30 PM, and left our apartment around 2:40. I’m glad we left early because the mall was a mad house. But even worse than the parking lot was the Apple store itself. It was like walking into the airport in India. It was hot, smelly, and I could feel the germs attacking me. People’s hands were all over everything: kids wiping their noses and then trying out iPads, fingerprints all over Macbooks, iPhones marred with people’s slime. Ugh. It felt like a germ zoo.
We probably got to the store around 3:15 and waited in line to be “checked in” for our appointment. People in red shirts were everywhere, coaching old women through Safari lessons, selling rich housewives unnecessary Apple Care Plans, working on iPhones for snooty 13-year olds. Twice I was asked why I was at the store by an Apple employee only to have that person listen to my answer and then walk away completely.
“Is this how this works?” I asked Sean. “I’m a PC guy. We fix these things ourselves.” Point taken.
After someone finally “checked me in” for my 3:30 appointment, I was directed to go sit on a table. You read that correctly. I scoffed at the idea at first. I could see there was no seating, but I would just stand. Then, when the gravity of the extended wait, the spread germs, and the increase in temperature and humidity level in this small box of a store hit me, I just sat on the “Kids’ Area!” table. Only to have some kid come sit at the computer I was perched beside and play a game, Magic Mouse occasionally brushing the side of my jeans.
All I could think was “GERMS! Slimy, sweaty, kid-hand germs.” I stood immediately and began complaining to Sean because, why else was he there except for to accompany me through my misery.
My name was finally called and a very grimy looking man named Tommy J. said to me, “I understand you’re missing a key.” I explained the situation, and he took my computer and 9 key to the back where he said there was a “big box of keys” where he could hopefully find a match for my keyboard type. Then it was another waiting game. I could feel the germs closing in on me, they were in the air now. I remember saying something to Sean along the lines of “The germs are airborne and swarming to get. All these people’s Christmas germs.”
Sean, of course, put up with my immaturity like a champ. Like when I was certain I was going to have an anxiety attack and pass out. He told me to sit on the floor, which I refused because I could see that Apple “Geniuses” were all under the age of 30 and probably still partied pretty hardy, which means their shoes had most likely hippie-danced in the nastiest-ass places I could imagine. I wasn’t touching that. Germs, duh.
Finally Tommy J., sweaty and forlorn, brought back my good, old Macbook–9 key intact. It took him a while to find the right spring, but it was done! He started up my computer to test it out. And then proceeded to touch the keyboard even more with what seemed like the grossest hands ever. Nastysauce! As soon as he had confirmed his success, he was ready for me to GTFO. As I tried to thank him for his service and hard work searching through the “key box,” he was already calling the name of the next tech support costumer. Alas, the ways of the Apple store.
I think I’ll continue to buy my Apple products online and avoid those huge masses of snooty and germy Apple costumers completely from now on. Pudge, beware! You shan’t cause such a ruckus again, or it shall be the (germy) death of me.