Loving and Hating Apple

For two days I had been trying to telephone our Apple store to find out how our computer repair was going. Busy signals. beep - beep -beep... Since I had been told that they anticipated the part coming in on Tuesday, I figured Tuesday night would be a reasonable update day. Busy signal. How about Wednesday? Busy signal. Off to the Apple store we drove on Wednesday night. I made my way back to the Genius Bar where a perky concierge greeted me. I asked for a status update and she went into the back room to ask around. Meanwhile Steve and the kids are browsing laptops and walking loops in the stroller.

A few minutes later, Perky Concierge comes back to inform me (wearing her best saddened newscaster face) that the part hasn't come in yet. Then she smiles. This isn't smiling time. This is commiserating time. I've been without a computer for nearly two weeks now and she's smiling at me. No - beaming at me.

I knot my brow. "Well, when do you think you'll get the part?" Perky shrugs... and smiles. This is not an oopsie moment, Perky! Then she suggests that I call back for an update on Friday, adding that she hopes the phones are working by then. Friday? Call back Friday? Perky has no idea at all when the part will come in or when it will be installed or when the tests will be run. She's a concierge, a salesperson essentially. I understand that. I'm not expecting the world here.

I had been very happy with Apple's support up until recently. When everything seems to have died in my Mac all at once, all of the tech people I dealt with were responsive and provided updates, walking me through the process. Unfortunately, It seems that the Apply Way is to fix parts one at a time, and every part that is in my computer seems to need to be special ordered. If Mac Stores are many Apple users' lifeline for technical problems, you would think that they would carry some parts. I guess they only keep parts for their newest gadgets... you know, the ones that probably aren't breaking down yet.

I met Steve in the doorway and broke the bad news. He shouts, "What the fuck!" I suggest to him that we just leave before he screams at one of the employees. We walk out the door with our kids, the smoke curling off of Steve's head. Perky Concierge II smiles and waves, "Have a good night, guys!"

This is not a good night, Perky.

You are not Mary Tyler Moore, turning the world on with your smile.
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