Fetch

Anyone who has ever owned a dog knows one thing about them: they love their stuff. There was one dog in my neighborhood named Byron. Byron was an English Bulldog; a lot of people don’t fancy the breed much, but I for one adore them. I especially adored Byron because I had known him from when I was in high school. I would always see him out for a walk by himself. His owners knew that he never got into trouble, so they just let him wander about as he pleased. The one way that everyone knew Byron was coming was the sound that he made. His favorite toy was a huge mahogany stick whose origins still elude me to this day. It was as long as he was, but that never stopped Byron from carrying it around with him, the one end dragging along behind that made a distinct scraping noise. It always made me laugh that I could hear Byron coming up the sidewalk before I ever saw him.

One afternoon, I was out washing my car when I hear the telltale drag of Byron and his stick. He saunters right up to me with that bulldog swagger and lets me pet him for a minute or two before continuing about his business. As I was somewhat bored with my chore, I decided to instead follow the dog (why I thought this was more entertaining than washing a car, I do not know). The subdivision I lived in was still under construction, and the newest addition was a small two day old pond that was so full of dirt and sediment that it was almost black. As it so happened, the pooch led me to the very bank of this nasty water feature. In the afternoon sun though, the pond shone like an obsidian mirror. I could see everything in its black surface. My thoughts were interrupted however by a sound I had never heard before: Byron was growling. In all the years I had known him, Byron had never made a peep except for his stick, but now he was staring straight into the pond and growling like he had just treed a raccoon. I crept up behind him in order to see what had the canine so agitated. I almost laughed out loud when I saw what it was: Byron was growling, stick still in mouth, at his own reflection. What was going through this pup’s head? Was he threatened by what he thought was another dog? Did he want the reflection’s stick because it looked as cool as his? Whatever the reason, what happened next almost broke my heart. Byron did the one thing he shouldn’t have done: he barked. The hickory stick fell from his mouth and splashed into the pond, disappearing into the murky water.

I didn’t see Byron as frequently after that day, and when I did, it was without that famous scraping sound. The dog walked slower and with less purpose, almost as though he was going through the motions, but had lost the passion for his patrol. After a while, he stopped coming by all together, and after I hadn’t seen him for a couple months, I was finally told that Byron was dead. From all accounts by his family, they just woke up one morning and found Byron in his doggy bed. He seemed to have gone peacefully, but I always wondered if he had been happy in those last weeks. Is it possible for a dog to die of a broken heart? I do know that I learned a lot from that mutt.

Which Fruit Got Adam and Eve Kicked Out?

There I stood, a man on a mission with a single objective, and it all rested in the hands of a twenty-something with a trendy shirt and a pair of headphones.

“Well, we can schedule you in for something later this afternoon if you’d like to wait around,” she advised in a tone that suggested she cared about my patronage about as much as she did her last bowel movement. As I was both desperate and bored, I caved and stood outside the establishment until I was ushered in fifteen minutes later.

At this point, you may be asking yourself where I am for this interesting anecdote. Fancy new nightclub? The hottest new restaurant in town? Premiere of this season’s biggest blockbuster? False, false and false. Correct answer: the mall; specifically…the Apple Store.

That’s right loyal readers; this entire hubbub was to simply get into a store at the mall. My iPod had the misfortune of breaking this summer, so I thought it would behoove me to take it to the local Apple establishment to see what a repair job would cost me. I was a fool; a poor, naïve fool. While no fan of the mall, there are certain accepted aspects of the concept. Chief among these is the cherished social practice of window shopping. It’s why stores like Sharper Image have any customer base at all. The premise is simple enough: your bored ass walks into a store to see what goods they deal. Although you have no intention of purchasing anything, you secretly (or maybe not so secretly) begin to take an inventory of the things that would like to purchase. Apparently, Apple did not get the memo when they set up shop in such a location. The iBouncers that were guarding the shop interior would only let in customers who, “were not going to browse and knew that they were going to make a purchase.” This merely a polite way of saying, “Buy something or get out!”

As I had a legitimate cause, I was eventually allowed entry. Once inside, I was treated to a veritable factory model of dealing with customers. The iDouche at the counter told me that the only thing they could do was trade in my iPod for another at a cost far higher than I was expecting. Is it that fucking hard to repair an LCD screen? All they’ll do is trade it in for an equal or better model. Does this make sense in any other industry? What would you do if your mechanic said, “Well, you’ve got yourself a flat tire there. I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. You can trade your Honda Civic in for a brand new Lamborghini Gallardo for only $120,000.” The correct response is, “Eat shit and die of a slow, painful disease.”

I politely told the iPrick this, but not before glancing at the shelves of pretentious Apple goods in the store. That’s right, I went in, didn’t buy anything, and looked at the merchandise. That’s called browsing. Fuckers.

I’ve already had a problem with Steve Jobs’ little cottage industry. Apple is responsible for more assholes, douchebags, and false senses of superiority than any other good in the history of free enterprise. Not that everyone who uses an iPod or an iPhone is like this (except folks who use Apple computers. You are all pretentious assholes. Deal with that fact). Some merely use the trendiness as an attempt to validate themselves in an extended version of wanting to sit in the back of the bus with the cool kids.

If Apple is going to survive once the competition catches up with them in terms of technology, they better get their shit together. For starters, quit acting like your crap is the beat all and end all of gadgets. You’re cool because you did it first. The funny thing about first is that it tends to get forgotten once second and third come along. Second, treat your customers like goddamned human beings and not plug-in jacks for your over-hyped, over-priced shit. The people will catch on eventually and then you’ll have to invent the iJack that strokes your sense of self-worth for you since no one else will give a furry rat’s ass anymore.

Oh, and Steve Jobs, you are now right under Alex Trebek on my “Punch You In The Throat If I Ever Meet You” list. Watch your ass.

P.S. It’s good to be back. I know y’all missed me.