Yesterday my iPod broke, so I went for support on the 3rd floor of a cold glass building in Boston's Back Bay. As instructed, I checked in with the man holding an iPad. With one slick touch, he highlighted my name on his touch screen and told me to have a seat. As I situated myself among the other patient hipsters, I scanned the photos of people just like us that hung across the white walls. The pictures captured attractive young people of every color holding different versions of solid-colored devices. Next to each one stood a similar person dressed in a blue shirt with a string around his or her neck, just like the ones who lined the Genius Bar; just like the ones who adorned the 3 flights of stairs and greeted me with strange familiarity in the entryway on the first floor.
When the iPad man introduced me to his friend Paul, of the Blue Shirt variety, he told me Paul was going to take good care of me and asked me if that was alright. And then Paul asked about my day and life as he told me that my iPod could not be fixed, but that I could trade it in for one hundred dollars to have one that works again. I thanked Paul, packed up my things, cordially returned all the thanks and goodbyes I received on my way out, and welcomed with sweet contentment the wet heat and grimy agitation of Boylston Street.
RIP: iPod Nano 2008-10.
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