Last Friday I had to go to the Apple Store to drop off my iPod. I dropped it and it broke. It broke hard. I’d been trying to get it in to the shop for, like, weeks but it turns out you can’t just drop your broke iPod off at the store when you happen to be at the mall and stopping by Sephora to smell hot-chocolate-scented body wash, which may be my personal definition of heaven in a bottle. No. There’s this whole thing you have to go through…I might even call it a rigamarole…to get your iPod serviced. You have to either pay $99 for some sort of special card that will allow you to make an appointment at any time on any day, much as you would at any normal store, or sign up for a precious half-hour at the so-called Genius Bar. You can only do this online during store hours. You can’t choose your own available time slot, you just have to accept or reject the next posted available time, which means you have to constantly check back during the day. Oh, and when you do finally sign up, they reserve the right to not serve you if they’re busy or something…the half hour time slot is just, apparently, a guideline for them. If you show up a little late though, hypothetically speaking, and you are on a very tight schedule and the bus was just not cooperating with you that day, and you are very hot and sticky and really just want to drop off your broke iPod so they can fix it, well, so sad for you!
So I’d finally worked everything out and Mom picked me up at work since she was in town and since apparently what I do with my mother when she comes to visit me from three thousand miles away is errands, we headed over there and I made ready to do battle. I just really wanted to get this taken care of and I’d been there several times before with no luck and I just didn’t know what I was going to do if I couldn’t get my iPod unbroke. My commute and my workouts were suffering and I hadn’t heard Bizarre Love Triangle for something like three weeks. Bad scene, you know?
Chiara: Mom, this could get ugly.
Mom: Live in hope, honey.
Chiara: I mean, I just don’t know what I’m going to do if they don’t take me.
Mom: We’ll just have to see.
Chiara: I hate to say this but…well, you might need bail money. You have some cash?
Mom: I have plenty of twenties, honey. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just be a little late to dinner with your aunt and cousin.
I marched straight up to the Genius Bar, dodging all the green-shirted Geniuses and the garden-variety Mac geeks who were just hanging out there at the store on a beautiful Friday afternoon. I steeled my resolve and whipped out the broke iPod, which was, unfortunately, still clad in the iSock my sister sent me for my birthday. I took a deep cleansing breath as Mom went over to check her email and to watch the iPod ads running in a permanent loop on the big wall screen.
Chiara: My iPod. It is broke.
iMonkey: Is your name on the screen?
Chiara: Yes. C-H-I-A-R-A.
iMonkey: Okay. [Stroking iShuffle on cord around neck.] What seems to be the problem?
Chiara: I dropped it and it broke.
iMonkey: I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.
Chiara: What, that I dropped it?
iMonkey: [cold hard stare]
Chiara: Oh.
iMonkey: I’m going to pretend. That I didn’t hear that.
Chiara: Oh. Right. Okay.
iMonkey: Fill out these forms here and I’m going to give you over to Greg right over there.
Chiara: Okay. Thanks. I appreciate it.
iMonkey: And ma’am…should that thing happen again…
Chiara: Riiiiight…
iMonkey: I wouldn’t mention it.
Chiara: Okay. Got it.
There was a bit of a wait while I was filling out the forms and while Greg was helping someone else. I was feeling rather victorious and looked over to where Mom was sitting, a hectare or two away by the big screen. I felt confident that the bail money she’d so thoughtfully assured me she had on her person would not be needed.
Chiara: [raising eyebrows and making universal thumb-rubbing-against-first-two-fingers sign for money, as if to say, “You still got the cash?”]
Mom: [raising eyebrows and pointing to purse while glancing towards the door, as if to say “Yeah, are we going to have to make a break?”]
Chiara: [making an extremely Italian-American face wherein I sort of frown and knit my brows and shake my head as if to say “What are you, kidding me? This is all taken care of over here.”]
Mom: [opening her wallet as if to say “Are you sure? Because you just do what you have to do. I’m good for it.”]
Chiara: [shaking head and making dismissive hand gesture as if to say “Nah, it’s cool.”]
Greg: Uh, is there a Shee-ar-hah here?
Chiara: [holding up one finger to Mom as if to say, “Wait, hold that thought a minute.] Yeah, it’s Key-ar-ah. Right here.
Greg: Huh. Interesting name. I would have never spelled it that way.
Chiara: It’s like chianti plus tiara. Two of my favorite things! *
*except for the Chianti because I don’t really drink, but I didn’t get into it with Greg. I do very much enjoy tiaras though.
Greg: Oh.
Chiara: I don’t know why I said that.
Greg: Uh, okay. Anyway. You the one with the iPod replacement?
Chiara: Yes, I dro…ha, ha ha! Yes! iPod! Replacement! Yes! I need a new one because I dr…because this one right here is broke!
Greg: Sign here and we’ll call you in a week to come pick up your new one.
Chiara: [dander up, spoiling for a fight] WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU’RE NOT GOING TO…oh. Next week?
Greg: Yeah, give or take.
Chiara: That’s it?
Greg: Yes.
Chiara: Well. All right then. [turning to Mom and shrugging as if to say “I guess we’re all done here. Let’s spend that bail money on dessert.”]