First, at 8:45 am on a Saturday morning, I had to climb out of a nice, soft bed where I’d been snuggled all up against my warm honey. Now, I wanted to go to breakfast with my brunch posse but it’s damn hard to leave a sexy man snoring softly in your bed.
Especially when as soon as you get out of bed, he’s wrapping his arms around your big special “Woobie” pillow and nuzzling it while making vague “mmm... mmmm” noises.
Breakfast was good, the company fine... but then I had to do something I dread with every fiber of my being: I had to go to Green Hills.
That had already required me to put on makeup and actual clothes without paint on them, because there is a dress code for Green Hills, you know. I have learned that if you want even a modicum of decent customer service in Green Hills, you must look like you at least made an effort to blend in. I worry that the bumper stickers holding my car together -- either by sheer volume or by their opinions -- will give me away as “NOT ONE OF US” but I needed the Apple store, and that meant Green Hills or Cool Springs.
God help me.
My beloved iPhone camera has, for the past week, not been taking photos with the breathtaking focus and clarity I have become accustomed to. After an hour on the phone with Apple support (“have you tried shutting it down and then booting it back up?”), they made me an appointment at the Apple store.
An appointment. Well, thank god because without an appointment I’d still be sitting outside Nordstrom’s watching well-scrubbed and almost uniformly skinny white people walk by, attempting to amuse myself by making up stories about this one’s bulimia and that one’s apprenticeship into the Shoe Whores of America Guild. All kidding aside, there are not nearly as many fat people in Green Hills as you would find in, say, any WalMart anywhere. Is the peer pressure of the upwardly mobile stronger, or do they just have the money to eat better and buy gym memberships? I don’t know. But I felt fatter than usual.
The Apple store is loud. I mean, you have to lean close to the ear of the smiling twenty-something in the grey polo shirt to spell your name for the tenth time over the echoing roar. There are always at least fifty people crammed into the store, and each and every one of them has their head down looking a screen of some kind. The store really would benefit from some acoustic improvement. Carpet would be lovely. But instead it’s loud, claustrophobic and chaotic.
Then the worst thing ever. THEY TOOK MY PHONE AWAY FROM ME AND TOLD ME TO COME BACK IN TWO AND A HALF HOURS.
How in the hell was I supposed to wait for two and a half hours without my phone? My audio book, and my ebooks, were all ON THE PHONE. Same for all my music. I couldn’t check my three email accounts, or my bank balance, or worse of all, I COULDN’T POST STATUS UPDATES THAT SAID “OH MY GOD THEY TOOK MY PHONE AWAY FROM ME AND I FEEL NAKED!”
I don’t wear a watch, so I couldn’t even tell what time it was. I stumbled around the mall, periodically asking strangers for the time.
Instead I ended up spending $70 on tea from Teavana (those evil bastards) and another $20 on Godiva chocolates. I wouldn’t have done this if I hadn’t been disoriented, vulnerable and bored out of my mind waiting... waiting... waiting....
I blame Green Hills, too, because when you are visiting there, you begin to forget that these are not your people, and this is not really your life, and you can’t afford to shop here because even the Jelly Belly’s at the candy store are overpriced.
My phone was actually ready fifteen minutes early. They put in a whole new camera. My photos are once more spectacular. Thank God.
I came home and crawled into bed for a two hour nap. Now, I’m drinking my extravagant Passion Tango tea.....