Behold: I have crossed to the dark side.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my unfortunate Apple experience in 2005, when I bought an iPod, it turned out to be a lemon, and an even bigger lemon was Apple’s warranty. I wrote:
I’ve all but resigned myself to buying a MacBook Air because its reviews are just so good, but I can’t bring myself to go into the store and plunk down the cash. Apple fucked up with me, and I’m still mad.
I guess writing that post was the last push I needed. After years of holding a grudge, I managed to get it down in semi-eloquent prose. I said what I had to say. And less than a month later, I’m the proud-and-at-the-same-time-kind-of-sheepish owner of a brand new 13” MacBook Air. Complete with elephant wallpaper.
It’s beautiful. And so far, it works like a charm.
This time, I didn’t go to Circuit City (not least because they’re now bankrupt). I went into the Apple store. I looked the salesman in the eye. He was honest with me. I had Boyfriend there as my witness. I asked lots of questions, and I kept my receipt. If it breaks, I know what to do: go back into the store, and go from “genius” to “genius” until someone decides to just fix it. No more phones; no more rage.
Of course, if this turns out to be a terrible idea, you’ll be the first to know.
