Blogelstein!

On a trip to the Genius Bar

Sit on the bench, they say at the Genius Bar, even though I have an appointment, and even though it was twenty minutes ago. The bench is wooden and long and reminds me of the benches in the arrivals hall at Ellis Island that I visited with my class at the end of 8^th grade, a special treat to learn first-hand about the suffering of our ancestors.

So I sit on the bench, like my great-grandmother must have sat in Ellis Island, except that I sit between a girl in Gothic wear who is punching messages into her phone (she glares at me, as if she thinks I am reading them over her shoulder; I am; they are not interesting) and a large man who is wearing awful black loafers and surgical stockings. We are silent, and face forward, even though we are sitting in each other’s personal space and even though we have much in common, enough to converse: my laptop is broken. Your laptop is broken? I’m missing keys. My battery is dead. Yes, I like to send emails. Are you on Twitter? These geniuses don’t seem to think very fast.

I try to read some poems, because I discover that I have a book of poems in my handbag, along with my phone, an umbrella, a scarf, cold medication, a handful of raw almonds that are stuck in the ripped lining. But the harsh glare of the Apple Store lighting is not conducive to the enjoyment of lyric wit. So instead, I sit. And I watch people intently fondling plastic gadgets that will facilitate their creation of things that don’t actually exist, and there is something about it that is so bleak and empty that I suddenly think that maybe I should just abandon my broken laptop here, on the bench, and go directly to nursing school.