My Trip to the Apple Store

            I went to an Apple store for the first time yesterday.

          
            I needed a very specific kind of USB cable, and was also interested in an iPod specific remote thingy for my headphones. I was at the mall, and I saw that shiny, white, sterile store. I figured what the hell. The only times I’d ever noted the place before was when glancing at the huge line-ups the day the latest iThing was released. Today, I’d enter the place that was many a techie’s Mecca.

Maybe no line-up, but it was still a fair busy place. I paused just inside, taking in the gleam, the glare, the glass. The plastic white-ness. It was like being inside the head of EVE from Wall-E. It smelled like . . . well, it didn’t smell. I imagined this place at night, where no cleaning staff entered, but instead the ceiling sprinklers doused the place in sanitizer.

I own an iPod. It’s a classic 80 gig.

“Classic.” I got it in 2007.

I also own a 3GS iPhone—which means it’s the second to latest edition—and a 4 gig iPod shuffle that I use for running. It was a gift, but I love it.

I will admit, I love my Apple devices.

But I hate their computers. Yes, enough to start a sentence with a conjunction.

Recently, I set off a minor firestorm on my Facebook page when I dared scoff at the glory of Apple computers. I will never join that trend (speaking computers, that is. I’d die without my collection of iDoodads). I don’t care how wonderful their operating systems supposedly are, I don’t care how cool their entertainment systems are, I don’t care how damn white they are. They’re stupidly expensive and I understand Windows just fine, thanks. Why, at my age, with limited time to spend learning rather than using a computer, would I force myself to learn a whole new OS, and shell out that kind of cash just so my laptop bears a glowing white once-bitten apple to impress my friends? Nuts to that.

That was my opinion when I entered the Apple store in search of a USB cable and a remote thingy. The place was very busy, as I’ve said, but there were many employees as well, more than there were customers. Each was young, bearing a blue shirt and a sparkling smile. Odd for an electronics store: plenty of available clerks who appear happy.

No, not happy.

Fanatical.

I passed the first tow glass tables which were set up as iPad 2 altars, and then an employee sprinted up to ask me how he could help me.

When asked, he knew exactly what I needed, and led me over to an accessories wall where he indicated the cable ($30) and remote thingy ($55) that I sought. I didn’t grab them, instead considering places where I could find cheaper knock offs that worked just as well minus the Apple logo.

Unused to having an electronics store employee stay with me, I sought to milk the moment.

“Say, where are your iPhone cases?”

He took me to the opposite accessory wall, which bore hundreds of the cases in all colours and styles, made of gels, rubber, metal, plastic, cork, human flesh (I’m sure). But all for the iPhone 4.

“Mine’s a 3,” I said. Then, like it mattered, “A GS.”

His smile faltered, just a little. To the point of almost coming back into the range of the humanly possible. I took a moment to study his teeth, telling myself that they couldn’t possibly be made of white Apple plastic. No, they couldn’t be.

“Oh,” he said.

He pointed up to a nigh-unreachable corner of the wall bearing four 3GS cases. One looked like a sunglasses fabric bag, another was pink metal, the third was the same as my own, and the fourth was pink and purple with the word “juicy” adorning it in what looked like rhinestones.

“Thanks,” I said. “Think I’ll pass.”

“Okay. Say,” he said, his eyes widening and crossing slightly, a small trickle of drool running out of his mouth, “you tried the iPad 2 yet?”

“No, I’m not really interested.” I’m not a tablet man. My smart-phone and laptop combined make a bulky tablet pretty meaningless to me.

“Oh, but you should at least try it.”

That is not a human grin.

“S’okay,” I said.

“Tell you what, go check it out. I’ll come check on you in a few minutes to see how you like it.”

“Uh, kay.”

I left, fearful that if I stayed a moment longer that a side panel would open up, revealing a shrine of Steve Jobbs made of white plastic, and the faithful would line up for afternoon prayers.

I went to Best Buy, found the items I wanted for less than $30, I didn’t even see  an employee, and was happy that the store was as dishevelled and poorly-organized as ever.

I remain an Applegnostic.