I have had good experiences at Apple stores. In fact, they are traditionally unremarkable—I walk in, I buy a cable, I buy a battery, I walk out. Yesterday, this was not so much the case.
The nearest one is in a mall; I hate malls. So in order to spend as little time in the store as possible, I researched the current models of MacBook, figured out which one I was actually interested in (and might be able to afford without hocking my soul to Steve Jobs), and went to Burlington to check it out. Mostly, I wanted to make sure the flat keyboard would not be uncomfortable to type on and the new iPhone-style trackpad—"incorporat[ing] Multi-Touch gestures, including swipe, pinch, rotate, and four-finger swipe"—would not drive me up the wall. And I was met by the most unhelpful clerk in the world. He did not seem to understand that I had ever used a computer before in my life. I explained that I was just test-driving this particular model and he told me I might have a little trouble adjusting to the trackpad from a mouse, but I would find it was really, really easy to use. I repeated that I knew from trackpads, and I had already determined that I could use this one, thank you, and he told me what I really wanted to look at was an AirBook. I said that I used computers primarily to write on and he talked to me about graphics processing. And then he gave me the wrong model number for the specs I had carefully given him.
My brother has asked if he was stoned, but I don't think so, even if he did look like the lead in a Judd Apatow film; I think he was simply not listening to anything I said. Maybe he had an AirBook quota to make, but on top of the laptop death, that was annoyance I didn't need. Guess what Apple store I am not buying my new computer from.
(In other news, the pineapple was delicious.)
The nearest one is in a mall; I hate malls. So in order to spend as little time in the store as possible, I researched the current models of MacBook, figured out which one I was actually interested in (and might be able to afford without hocking my soul to Steve Jobs), and went to Burlington to check it out. Mostly, I wanted to make sure the flat keyboard would not be uncomfortable to type on and the new iPhone-style trackpad—"incorporat[ing] Multi-Touch gestures, including swipe, pinch, rotate, and four-finger swipe"—would not drive me up the wall. And I was met by the most unhelpful clerk in the world. He did not seem to understand that I had ever used a computer before in my life. I explained that I was just test-driving this particular model and he told me I might have a little trouble adjusting to the trackpad from a mouse, but I would find it was really, really easy to use. I repeated that I knew from trackpads, and I had already determined that I could use this one, thank you, and he told me what I really wanted to look at was an AirBook. I said that I used computers primarily to write on and he talked to me about graphics processing. And then he gave me the wrong model number for the specs I had carefully given him.
My brother has asked if he was stoned, but I don't think so, even if he did look like the lead in a Judd Apatow film; I think he was simply not listening to anything I said. Maybe he had an AirBook quota to make, but on top of the laptop death, that was annoyance I didn't need. Guess what Apple store I am not buying my new computer from.
(In other news, the pineapple was delicious.)
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