When my Dell laptop finally gave up the ghost, I took the opportunity to switch back to the Mac. I had last used the Mac regularly back in 1993, in grad school at NYU, when it was a vertical box with a grey-toned monochrome monitor and a little smiley computer icon that greeted the user at start-up.
I had never lost my affection for the Mac, but we drifted apart from each other as Windows captured the business user market and I, unfortunately, was a business user. We lost touch, the Mac and I, but I never forgot her.
Recently with the switch to the Intel chip, the Mac had finally become viable for business. And with the advent of Windows Vista, which would have essentially required me to learn a new operating system anyway, I figured I might as well re-learn the best operating system – the Mac, OS X version.
So it was with some amount of delight when my Dell finally died, and after a failed if half-hearted effort to resuscitate it, I marched purposefully to the local Apple reseller (in the process almost slamming headlong into the actor Nicholas Cage, who was walking backwards out of an expensive jewelry shop here in Bath, where he had recently added another fancy home to his collection).
So simple, the Mac – just a few elegant choices to make: white or black (I chose white); MacBook or Pro; size of screen – and soon I was a proud owner. Finally we were reunited. Mac and me, together again. We hadn’t seen each other since grad school, and we had a lot of catching up to do.
But the honeymoon was brief. After a few days of carefree, pleasure, the little warning signs began to appear. The mouse pad button stuck and felt crunchy when I tapped it. The palmrests began to turn yellowish – leading me to question my personal hygiene and sending me off compulsively handwashing throughout the day.
The comma key popped off – quite irritating as I am a major consumer of commas (had it been the tilde key I might not have minded as much).
A crack appeared on the hinge for the screen lid. And then, one evening as I was typing away, I felt a little fluttering beneath my right palm, as if there were a Post-It note slapped down beneath. But it wasn’t a piece of paper; it was actually the plastic casing of my MacBook, which had fractured and a piece of which was now flapping loose.
Things were not going well for the Mac and me. Clearly it was time to receive some tender loving AppleCare. But this was when I finally understood what was happening. Apple, my long lost computer love, now brought back into my eager embrace, was not ready to love me back.
Maybe she had been told too many times how beautiful and sleek she was, but Apple was not ready to hear that she was not so lovely. She coldly turned her back on me. My cries for attention were rebuffed.
An attempt to visit the Genius Bar taught me that true genius was, truly, unattainable. At the Apple Store on Regent Street in London, I was told that walk-ins could not see the Geniuses (somewhat in contradiction to the concept of a bar, as a friend pointed out). I could make an appointment on the web, but no more than 48 hours in advance; but anyway all of the appointments were taken. However, if I tried every hour on the hour, some appointments might become available.
Now it could be argued that I am on the internet a bit too much, but even I am not online enough to keep trying to make a reservation at the Genius Bar every hour until I get one. And besides, I had not made that kind of effort to reserve a booking of any kind since the last time the Grateful Dead rolled into town, and that was far more rewarding.
Calling my local authorized Apple service provider (Farpoint, on Walcot Street in Bath) was no more effective, with every telephone menu option resulting in a recording asking me to leave a number for a callback (come to think of it, I do remember wondering who was ever going to answer the endlessly ringing telephone the last time I was in their shop). Do I need to add that there never was a callback?
Oh Apple, my dear Apple, why hast thou forsaken me?
Finally it was my business partner who hit upon a solution. Having learned by now how to most effectively deploy a loudmouthed American, he suggested that I march into the Apple Store, plop my rapidly decaying MacBook down on the table alongside the shiny showroom models, and insist on staying until my problem was addressed.
Business Partner later claimed he wasn’t serious about this (typical British reticence I think), but being highly susceptible to suggestion I took his advice and soon found myself on the selling floor of the Apple Store on Regent Street, loudly pointing out the multiple visible defects on my MacBook, and attracting the attention of many nearby shoppers (except for the man sleeping, standing up, next to me).
For good effect, I had the AppleDefects.com page, with its frowning-apple parody logo, and its many photos of prematurely decrepit MacBooks remarkably similar to mine, prominently displayed on my screen.
I was being so uncool there in the Apple Store – the coolest retail environment anywhere. These cool young Apple guys in their t-shirts, ready to be so coolly helpful, confronted by a loud, paunchy, middle-aged American in a suit. Man, I was sucking the cool right out of the place.
Needless to say, I soon had my appointment – so next week I will have the privilege of an audience (of up to 20 minutes, I have been forewarned) with a Genius, a cool Genius no doubt, who will sagely diagnose my problem and propose a solution. This solution, I have been further warned, stands a good likelihood of requiring me to leave my MacBook overnight, or even for several days.
It almost makes me feel nostalgic for Dell – a company that was just as uncool as I am, but which would at least send somebody geeky to my premises to fix my computer, leaving me in continued, uninterrupted operation.
Apple will eventually fix my problem, I am sure. But they will take my MacBook from me, and I will miss her, and I will pine for her. I will be left with an aching emptiness. And then after a few days of loneliness, they will return her to me, clean and with a shiny new face, and I will be grateful. I will take her back. And I will still love my MacBook, because I am a forgiving soul and I still want to love her, and I need her. But I will never forget how she broke my heart.
