The Apple Store: Scary, pleasant

As mentioned in the previous entry, I bought a pair of Shure SE110 earphones. The one local dealer that had them in stock was the Apple store downtown. I had never been in there before so I went in as an Apple store virgin. This was akin to entering a cult compound as a curious and lost waif, seeking knowledge and wisdom.

The store is an open air design, with various bits of Apple hardware lining counters on the left and right for a little hands-on lovin’ and islands in the middle sporting more hardware. It is very bright, white and clean-looking, almost antiseptic if not for the light-colored birch (my guess) that lines the counter tops. At the far end of the store is the sales counter where the POS system consists of Mac notebooks mounted on swivel stands. Behind this counter are two large LCD screens displaying things like a glossary of technical terms or a list of people with appointments for the day.

I head about halfway down and find the racks with iPod accessories. I pull down the box of Shure earphones and look it over. So far no one has approached me, but it’s the weekend and the store is pretty crowded, so the sales reps may all be occupied. Good.

I take the earphones to the sales counter. There is a vague kind of line-up here, further underscoring my belief that over the decades Canadians have lost the ability to form a line. A woman comes up to me and asks how will I be paying. She has a big smile and even bigger saucer-like eyes. Her hair is straight and long. She looks a bit like someone from a love cult circa 1973. I tell her I am paying by debit and she smiles some more and nods and tells me someone will be helping me soon. Okay. Thanks, I guess. I continue to wait. The line is a bit slow. Maybe the POS Mac notebooks need more ram. Finally I get to the young man who scans in my purchase. The process of doing this, getting the receipt, the bag and combining these things into something I can carry out is deliberate and studied, as if a sacred ritual is being performed. The Apple bag has a drawstring on it instead of handles cut into the plastic. I feel like I am being handed a bag filled with secret runes, that I am about to begin a journey of discovery to unlock the mysteries therein. Then I get the bag and get the hell out, skirting past the greeter as she nods and smiles at someone coming in.

I can’t say the experience was unpleasant but it was a little creepy. Apple doesn’t get buyers, they get converts.

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