Tuesday afternoon, I opened up my Mac Book to do some internet research on microeconomics and water supplies in developing nations. Only, when I typed in Food-Service-Hotties.com, I mean DoGooders101.com, nothing came up. My internets, they weren’t a working.
I immediately ran to my husband, shoved my laptop baby at him and said, “Fix, please.” He gave me the, “What the hell did you do now?” look, then 10 minutes later, told me I had an appointment at the Apple store the next morning. “Why, what’s wrong with it?” I asked. “Did I get a virus from all of the Real Housewives naked video sites that I would never, ever visit in a million years?”
Chris then told me, in very specific detail, what was wrong with my computer, only the whole time he was talking, my brain heard this:
Yeah, that’s right. For some reason, whenever someone starts rambling on about technical stuff or how to change a flat tire or are you listening to your father, Wendi? I’m telling you important things about camping safety! my head is immediately filled with The Trammps singing “Disco Inferno.” I really don’t know why. Maybe I shouldn’t have hung that poster of John Travolta wearing sexy white disco pants in my room during my formative years or something.
So the next morning I charged into the Apple Store for my appointment at the Genius Bar. My particular Genius—-let’s call him “Peanut” because, well, it’s just funny to call a hipster tech guy “Peanut”—started off by asking me what the problem was. I (very competently) told him that the AirPort thingy doohickey on the whatzit didn’t appear to be working right, then he proceeded to say lots of important technical things while I didn’t listen and chanted, “And that is when my spark got hot, I heard somebody say–Burn baby burn!” under my breath. I may have also been doing a little light hip thrusting, you’d have to ask Peanut.
Unfortunately, my laptop then had to undergo some sort of “diagnostic testing” in the back room where they keep the Geniuses who aren’t yet ready for public interaction. While I waited, I focused on the messy college girl next to me who was in hysterics over her broken computer. She kept calling her mom on her iPhone to give minute by minute recaps. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S WRONG WITH IT, MOM. BUT IF MY BLAH BLAH BLAH PUBLIC POLICY PROJECT IS LOST, MY LIFE WILL BE RUINED!”
This made me think back to when I was in college and had a similar experience. Only it was more like me waiting in line to use the pay phone at the Gamma Phi Beta house so I could tell my mom that I’d run out of typewriter ribbon and was probably going to flunk “Camp Songs for All Occasions: 102.” (But I’m sure I would have passed it if I’d had a $1,200 computer back then. I mean, how hard is it to deconstruct “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” when you have Wi-Fi, for God’s sake?)
“So, those are the reasons why you need to leave it here for 3 to 5 days,” Peanut then announced. “Is that OK? Sorry, but I don’t know what ‘Satisfaction, came in a chain reaction’ is supposed to mean. Does that mean you understand?”
“Of course I….what? You’re taking my baby away? OVERNIGHT?” I yelped, and the Genius coldly handed me my empty laptop bag so I could shuffle out of the store like I’d just lost my best friend. What was I supposed to do now? I thought. Now that I didn’t have my Mac Book? Use my old…PC?! Like an animal? It was a dark, dark time for Old Mrs. Aarons.
“Do you think the Genuises are kissing it good night like I always do?” I asked Chris later that night while I wiped away a tear and tried to surf the Internet on a sticky Fisher-Price telephone. “Because I don’t think Peanut has a lot of empathy. He’s like a robot with really cool wireless glasses and interesting facial hair. He doesn’t know my pain.”
“I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” Chris said while trying so hard to not roll his eyes, he almost passed out. “Just calm down, OK?”
Then, after a rather restless night, I woke up to find a message on my iPhone. My Mac was all fixed and ready to be reunited with me! After just 12ish horrible hours! Hooray! I bombed into the Apple store the minute it opened and told my friend Peanut that I was there to pick up my laptop. “OK,” he began, then started talking about all the things they’d done to fix it and why it happened.
I tried to listen and politely said thank you to Mr. Peanut, but all I needed to know was that my baby was coming home with me. So I said good-bye, then very happily walked out of the Apple store with my sweet little laptop in my hand and a spring in my step.
And, of course, a loud, thumping “Burn, baby burn” in my head.