HOMG. So let’s skip the pleasantries and just get into it, shall we? Seeing as sweat is truly glistenin’ all ovah mah bahdy. O_O
Today, Joshua decided to come over to Daddy’s house and clean The Garage. I say The Garage because. It is an entity all its own. Throughout my life, it has been clean three times if we can count the state we’re leaving in tonight. Once Ana had to clean it out to store her things while she went to Sicily and once Dad cleaned it. Now, I haven’t lived her for over nine years so maybe perchance there were more instances. But I’d bet my writing hand there aren’t. That’s. How certain I am. So aside from the fact that Josh’s powers of persuasion must have hit Pusher-style levels (um, did anyone else see that movie “Push” with Dakota Fanning?) – as in he said, “I’m going to clean Daddy’s garage” and somehow…Ana and I ended up sweating to moldies right there with him all day – how about. The man. Across the street – on the street perpendicular and on the left … cuz you care – who mowed his lawn. All. DAY. KWAT?! He actually came back outside a moment ago and started again. O_O We officially have a situation, frere.
So, I never told you about that time I ventured to the Apple store, did I? Sit. Do. So one day I foolishly walked into the Apple store to let them know that the iPod Touch I got for my birthday last year has on several occasions abandoned its function and decided rather to entertain me with colorful lines against a stark white background. I’ve rebooted it to default settings a few times (and also went five months with it on my dresser because, come on, I don’t really need it) and am now tired of that. So in I went! Forward! To progress! Except not. First of all: WHO IS TOO GOOD FOR REGISTERS?! @#$%! Come. On. So I’m idling around like a tool – which is what they want you to look like, btw – until some overzealous person who – woohoo. – has a job comes over to me and directs me to the receptionist. I go, but wonder, “Why don’t I just go to the register and return it?” Right. So once there, he nods and goes, “Right, well, actually, you can’t do that. You actually have to see a Genius and they’ll make sure it’s under warranty and replace it or fix it.” Oh. Okay. Unnecessary. Where’s the Genius. *snort* “Well, actually, you need to make an appointment to see them.” Right. So I’ll just return it. Where’s the register. “Actually a Genius has to handle the return. So I can get you in tomorrow at 1?” *Eyes half-mast* We book the meeting with the GENIUS BECAUSE MAC NEEDS TO CALL THEIR CUSTOMER SERVICE SLAVES GENIUSES BECAUSE THEY GOT A TOUCH OF TRAINING HIP HIP HAZZAH. EXTRA. Anyway, so on the day of my meeting with the GENIUS. I get there a tad after. Nine minutes is how long they hold the appointment. Now, I have no problem with the fact that I was late and they went on to the next person. The part where I started yanking arrows from my quiver came when the girl tried to reschedule me for another day.
Did you TRULY think I was going to spend a THIRD day’s gas money to drive back to the store to RETURN A BROKEN ITEM? Coonery.
So, after raising my eyebrow and speaking really clearly or whatever, I got her to understand that wasn’t an option. After about thirty minutes of someone telling me they were right on it, the guy just opens another one, hands it to me and has me sign something. Wow. Glad I made an appointment and junk. GENIUS. I coulda done that, were it not for laws against shoplifting. But no, thank you for that.
Oh, did I mention he didn’t replace the film thingies I’d gotten to preserve the touch pad/screen? Yeah, he didn’t.