First, to quote my mom:
“Apple genius? Oh, ha! That’s cute: ‘I’m an apple genius! I’m a banana genius! Ha! What other fruits do they have there?
So yeah. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, having comandeered my mother’s laptop so that I can do my Important Internet Things: checking my email, checking some message boards, spitting out an inane tweet, and – of course – doing some light Facebook-ing. But why am I currently depriving my poor, sweet mother from her morning online crossword puzzles?* Because my own computer’s freakin’ broke. Or something like that.
The issue is, I presume, one of two things:
a) It could be an incredibly simple fix – something completely and totally ridiculous that probably involves a quick few keystrokes and BAM! it’s fixed, or
b) It could be the result of something bigger that might or might not be covered under my warranty (which I thought expired last week but actually doesn’t expire until next week. Phew).
And right now, I’m torn. While I sure hope whatever’s wrong doesn’t result in me selling off superfluous organs as a means of financing the repairs, I sort of dread schlepping myself over to the Apple Store and having someone who’s been certified as a “genius” tell me I just don’t have it plugged in right (or something to that effect). It’s a pride thing, really. I’m not by any means a computer “person,” but I’d like to think that I’m not completely functionally retarded when it comes to these machines. I mean, is it weird that I can imagine this Genius thinking to himself that if I can’t even figure out this simple problem, I have no business owning such a beautiful piece of computery?
This is where the Rational Part of my brain says: really? Do I actually care what he thinks? The answer to this is, of course, no. But rationally comprehending that whatever this person thinks has absolutely no affect on me doesn’t stop me from hoping that all this hoopla of making an appointment at this “genius bar” will not be a waste of time for either of us.
Stay tuned, I guess!
*I did ask first. I’m not a total biatch.
the sloppy copy 