Monday, March 5, 2012
The Genius Bar
Siri: “I have a fishbowl punch located on the menu at the Genie Bar. Do you want directions?”
I’m a longtime Apple-only user. I know a few key commands, I can solve most glitches on my own, some friends even ask me for Mac advice. I used to believe all this was sort of a “na-nu na-nu” secret handshake into the cool kids’ club. Heck, I even wear interesting eyewear, for the love of Steve Jobs. Prescription eyewear, bitches.
But moseying up to the Apple Store’s Genius Bar and my illusion/delusion is shattered. I’m not nerdy cool. I’m a tool. My only consolation is that I’m beta-lame, while everyone ahead of me in line is a 2.0 tool (in fact, they might be cyborgs). I have a lot of time to observe these bearded, iPadded creatures in their natural habitapp, seeing as my Casio just went from 3:00 to 3:45—Cupertino time—while I wait for assistance on a stool clearly imported from the distant future.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Apple is shamelessly trying to stroke my ego, whispering in my ear like a 21st-century iAgo. There’s no need to make me feel like a Mensa member just because I belly up to the bar; my IQ score did that for me in fifth grade. Bitches.