Offline: I Am Not Apologizing For How I Acted At The Apple Store.

How I Spent My Weekend

What follows is the story of my broken phone, starting on Friday afternoon, and the trials and tribulations I was put through. I wrote this because I was unable to communicate for 24 hours and could not explain what was happening to me as it was happening. This is as much a therapeutic exercise for me as it is for my readership. It was also written in part as it was happening.

Part 1: Live blogging the Immediate Aftermath of the First Night

This Section was written Friday night.

The screen broke on my phone, so now I can’t text people for the next twelve hours¹. I’m gonna scream. I was supposed to do a double feature of The Invite and The Minions Movie, but right after the guy scanned my ticket, my phone screen turned green. I saw The Invite anyway and hoped it wouldn’t be a long-term problem. When the movie ended (I liked it. I would watch it again in a year on vacation or at a friend’s house) my phone was working. I went outside for some fresh air before The Minions started. I hit my vape. I took an edible. My phone turned off.

I went to the Apple store across the street from the AMC Lincoln Center. They fit me in. They could see me in 40 minutes, just in time for edible to hit. I read Pool House by Mary H.K. Choi, which I was supposed to finish by the end of June for Clare’s book club, but immediately fell behind. It’s awesome and brings to mind the right mix of L.A. memories, like when my phone worked, and despair at life’s trouble, similar to my present, where my phone is broken.

The Apple store is the most nerve-racking place. Either they can’t help you, and you have to spend $1000, or they can, and you have to spend $1000. I enter into a tranquil state of panic when I’m there. I have accepted my death. By the time you walk through those glass doors, you are already a victim; it’s just a matter of finding out in what way. God help you if they let you go down or up a set of stairs. I imagine hell will be like the Apple Store. heaven too. Don’t know what that’s about.

In my state of tranquil panic, I forgot everything as it happened immediately. I walked out 20 minutes later with a dead phone and instructions to go to the downtown Brooklyn Apple store the next morning. I am told they will have me on file and be able to help me, and also that the genius² I am talking to cannot make me an appointment.

I now had 12 hours to kill in between. I thought I had texts to draft and plans to make. I had TikToks to watch. I had no way to share what just happened to me. I had a 45-minute subway ride home and Pool House to keep me company.

In a more general sense, my brain feels like it’s atrophying, and I want to read more. This 12-hour window felt like the perfect punishment to finish a book I’ve been wanting to devour, but “haven’t had the time”³. I want to be less dependent on my phone. I want to know peace again. Want to sing a different song. I have been feeling addicted to my phone for weeks now. An uncontrollable urge to stare at it with awareness that it wasn’t hitting the way it used to. My attempts to write weren’t keeping me interested, and my attempts to read were even worse. I felt like I would never finish a book again.

I read until I couldn’t focus anymore, until I was skipping paragraphs because my mind was wandering. The people talking on the train overwhelmed me, and I felt like I was having a panic attack. I wanted to listen to music so bad. If I could have music, I wouldn’t look at the phone. I thought of ways to avoid this fate in the future. I thought of buying an iPad and making my phone less useful to me. No entertainment. Just…. Phone. I had entered the bargaining phase. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll read a book a week. I can do it. I used to be smart.

The phone has two values: entertainment and connection. I want to give up a portion of the entertainment aspect without forgoing the connection. When the phone breaks, I have neither. Now that I am home, I just want to bitch about what happened to me. In losing my phone, I have lost my connection to other humans. I am alone. Whatever. It’s actually fine. If someone needs to contact me in the next 12 hours, which they don’t, they can email me. I’m still alive. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Email I sent my parents.

Part 2: Dawn of the Second Day

This Section was written Saturday Morning.

There are many times in life when one is forced outside the normality of the day-to-day against their will. Waiting, simply waiting to return. The loss of a phone is one of the logistical nightmares that makes me feel as if I’m not cut out for this life without it. I would love to text my friends and complain, but then we are back at the beginning of the problem.

I wake up early to the sound of my Barbie alarm clock buzzing. In an effort to be less reliant on my phone several years earlier, I asked my parents to get me an alarm clock for Christmas, and if it could be as similar to the one I had growing up, that would be perfect. My mom either found the same one on eBay or just pulled it out of the basement. Barbie was an innovator in the clock radio space. It’s cute, you can set two alarms (one for weekdays, one for weekends), and you can make the radio your alarm. Most importantly, it’s cute. If I wanted to be on the forefront of anti-phone technology, I would be making cute clock radios with two alarms. It’s the same market as Brick! That’s my million-dollar idea I’m giving you for free. All I ask in exchange is to be a brand ambassador.

I am filled with dread and anxiety as there is no escape. I am perpetually at the Apple store waiting area, and relief does not come. I gather my bag that has 2 laptops (don’t ask) and anything else I might need to pass the time while I wait for my phone to be fixed. I was planning to get up early anyway to finally drop off a bag of clothes I have been meaning to donate since April. In addition to my bag of distractions and sense of dread, I am carrying two Ikea bags of clothes I hate, and while the drop off goes smoothly, this just makes the whole thing worse⁴. I can’t handle reading right now, so on the train, I think and think and try to self-soothe inside my imagination. No luck!

When I arrive at the downtown Brooklyn Apple store, they have never heard of me.