The Apple Store

I went to the Apple store to fix my MacBook. It was a brand new store, in the heart of trendy Chicago. The people who worked there were cooler than me. Way cooler than me. I walked in and alongside the breezy air conditioning, an air of hipness smacked me in the face. WHACK. Now I'm not not a hip guy, I have thick, black rimmed glasses. I own a pair of Converse All-Stars. I've heard of the Black Keys. But I was out of place. I was Flavor Flav at the Royal Wedding. What's HE doing here?

I made an appointment online to meet with a Genius, which is fancy for computer technician, which is fancy for someone who owns or has access to a screwdriver. I walked over to the Genius Bar (don't ask for a Tequila Sunrise, they don't serve alcohol), and checked in. He was holding an iPad 2 and in a very friendly tone asked me my name. "Gabe," I said. "Wow, cool name!" said the Genius. "Are you Mexican?" "No," I said. "Cool!" said the Genius. "That's awesome!" I couldn't tell if he was on a heavy dose of cocaine or incredibly racist. Probably both.

I was told to sit and wait for the next available Genius station to open up. I sat. At the other end of the store, I heard piano music. I looked behind me and there was a guy sitting on a beanbag pushing non-existent buttons on an iPad, creating the music. A fake piano. I felt like I was a special guest at Hansel's bachelor party. Zoolander would be bursting through the door at any moment, I was sure of it.

I was called up to the Genius Bar. After telling a few hilarious jokes about ordering beers and passing law exams, we got to the point. My battery was shot. "Your battery is shot," said the Genius. "CRAP!" I said. "BUT I DON'T EVEN OWN A GUN!" The Genius looked at me with his genius eyes and said, "You need a new battery. It's not a big deal." "Oh, alright. Thank you kindly," I said.

I received my new battery and took a stroll around the store, checking out all the gizmos and gadgets and whatzits and whynots. This was not a place for normal people. The walls were talking, the floors were made of videos, and the ceiling was heaven itself. I was out of place. I couldn't find the exit. I approached a Genius, carefully. "How do I get out of here?" I asked. He replied, "There's no escaping. You may as well stay a while. Have you seen the new iPhones?" I started to sweat. My chest was pounding. The world started to close in around me. I was having a panic attack. I'm stuck here forever? Oh no! I didn't bring my Ray Bans. All I have is my Sony discman. They're all going to make fun of me. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NO ESCAPING?" I asked. "WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? I HAVE TO GET HOME. I HAVE TO GO!" He looked at me with his genius eyes and replied, "Dude, the door is right there. I was kidding. It was a joke." "Thank you kindly," I said. And walked out.

Moral of the story? Don't trust anyone with an IQ over your own.