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The night I threw an eppy in the Apple store

April 16, 2014

As God said to Satan, the fallen angel, I say to Apple: thy was perfect before inequity was found in thee…

Perhaps quoting the Bible is a little strong, you might think, but the Apple store is actually in Hell, which therefore legitimately makes it a candidate for being the Devil right?

Hell being, of course, Westfield Stratford: a gigantic, ugly shopping centre that was built for the Olympics. Yes, our country is so obscenely capitalist that the government builds shopping malls to celebrate sporting events. It is a place where no-one with an IQ in double figures would willingly spend their Wednesday evening and yet here I am, sitting outside the Apple Store eating a frozen yoghurt which I have regretfully spent four quid on, awaiting my appointment at the ‘Genius Bar’.

"Westfield" by Garret Keogh


I was summoned to the ‘Genius Bar’ because less than a week ago I bought an Apple computer. I am a former ‘Windows-user’, so buying a Mac was a big deal, a LIFE EVENT . All writers seem to use Apple computers and I have to admit, I was a little swayed by that. Maybe buying a Mac would make me a better writer, I foolishly thought! I’d bought into that dream, the ‘Dalston coffee shop dream’, the dream of being that person sitting amongst the industrial-chic furnishings, sipping a Monmouth coffee latte and nibbling a salted caramel macaroon, with a little glowing white apple in front of them!

But clearly real writers don’t have Macs because… The bloody cAPS lOCK is unusable!!!!!!!! If you type fast it sticks and it can’t keep up.

So, how I ended up taking my computer back to the Apple Store: I mistakenly thought the sticking caps lock was just my Mac. I called up Apple’s ever so helpful customer service line, which seems to go all the way to America, because, nothing against against Americans, but it’s always answered by some unbearably cheerful person with an American accent who doesn’t seem to comprehend that people in London mostly rely on public transport to get around. This person thought my caps lock shouldn’t be sticking and so they arranged for me to go to the hallowed ‘gENUIS Bar’ at an allotted time to get it fixed.

So here I am, and the hour is nigh. What to expect at the ‘Genius Bar’? A glass of vino with Leonardo Da Vinci? Some cocoa with Albert Einstein? sHOTS WITH siR sTEVEN hAWKING!?

No, sadly, just a load of blokes and a few women in blue t-shirts, all surrounded by mobs of customers with faulty Apple goods. I was disappointed, and when my blue t-shirt person came over to me and informed me within seconds that actually, no my computer hadn’t got a problem, the caps lock is just like that on all Macs, I was furious. It’s just like that on all Macs? It’s just fucking UNUSABLE on ALL MACS?? Yes, it seems all Apple computers are hard wired for slow-typing douchebags.

“It’s got a delay on it so you don’t knock it” Blue t-shirt says.

I’m sorry, how are you actually going to ‘knock it’ unless you have six fingers or are perhaps typing drunk? Who were they testing on, Ernest bloody Hemingway?

I stormed out, feeling mildly embarrassed that I’d thrown a bit of an eppy in the Apple store. Would I rather be still on Windows though? Hmm… No, I guess I do like my little glowing white apple better than crappy Windows. I’ll just have to train myself to become a slow-typing douchebag. And I cannot forgive them for sending me to hELL on a Wednesday night.

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