When it Falls From the Tree ...

On Saturday I stopped by one of my favorite stores, TekServe, which is devoted to Macintoshes of all kinds, except the ones that grow on trees. Now you might not understand how a store like this could invoke feelings of excitement, so to my PC-using, non-New York friends, what’s so great about TekServe? Number one, the space is enormous, and I think when you live in New York, walking into an enormous space is just so liberating. The store is in what was once a factory back in the day: wood floors, ceilings two stories high. There’s an antique Coke machine, and if you put in a dime you get yourself a bottle of Coke. I’m not a soda drinker, but even I can’t resist the novelty. But the best thing about the place is the staff. Almost every person working there possesses a great and unusual combination of characteristics. Computer nerd, ultra cool, intelligent, witty and sweet. It’s like TekServe has its own “Stepford” thing going, but in a good way. Being there sometimes feels like being at a party with friends, and we all have at least two things in common: we all live in New York City, and we’re all having love affairs with our Macs. (I see an apple theme here).

On this particular trip to TekServe, I brought my comatose iPod to be diagnosed.

Annie and I walk in; Annie grabs a comic book off the rack and sits herself down in a 1970’s “Egg Chair.” I approach the guy at the counter, the iPod laying flat in my open palm. “If it’s dead,” I say, “then I’m willing to buy a new one. But I love my iPod and I want to hear there’s hope.” The TekServe guy, young, cute and cool, looks straight into my eyes as he removes the iPod from my hand. He understands. He proceeds to plug it into his computer. No response. He then unplugs it. He puts it up to his ear and listens. “Is it dead?” I ask. “No,” he says, “It’s not dead.” “Then you can fix it?” I ask. “No, I don’t think I can,” he says. “Then it’s dead?” I ask again. He smiles at me and pauses, “It’s not dead.” Then he laughs. I’m confused. Is he flirting with me? I take his hand in mine and we look at each other. “Please explain,” I say. He tells me that to repair the iPod it would have to show up on his computer when he plugged it in. That would be the only way he could erase the hard drive so I could then reinstall my music library. “But it won’t let me do that,” he says. “So I need to purchase a new one,” I say. “Yes, you need a new one,” he answers. “So it’s dead,” I say. He smiles. Another pause. “It’s dead.” He says. “Take a number and go to the green wall.”

I approach the next cute, cool computer guy and ask him for a ticket. He glances at my iPod. “It’s dead,” I tell him. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “Do you offer funeral services?” I ask. “It can be arranged,” he says.

Three minutes later, after seeing my new iPod--it holds more songs, has a wider screen, even comes with video download capabilities-- I dropped my deceased one on the counter and forgot all about it.

After all, one bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch …