Cleopatra scans the rim of the world at her leisure.
She has a shock of semi-gloss chestnut hair, done up in a ponytail. She has creamy, diaphanous skin. Mocha. In principle, she's not opposed to eye contact with the blue-shirted hetaira that just greeted her. It would just require such a long and plodding and heavy-footed trip down the dias of self-regard, that eagle's nest from which she scans the horizon as if she could see nothing nearer.
Cleopatra -- I don't know her real name, but she works out at my gym -- has bird legs and a big ass, further proof that the elliptical is just so much back and forth. But if she's aware these offsets at all, her confidence is undiminished. Seriously. She does not take in the world. She peruses it. It is a glamor magazine, and she's just leafing through, looking up at odd intervals to level a gaze as calm as an institution, that announces, deadpan:
"I don't need charm. I'm rockin' the face."
Which renders all the more startling the role that she is playing right now. Cleopatra is my bitch -- or at least the bitch I'd have to be if she weren't getting the job done so rippingly well that I am more than pleased to stand aside, fold my arms, and enjoy the show.
Here is how it all began. I arrived to purchase a MacBook Pro. I just needed someone to grab it from the back and take my money. Outside the store, there is a thirty-long line of people. Some people's instinctive response to a line is to stand in it, which proves they're not the kind of people who cleared this country of its trees and its rightful owners. Me, I ask the old man at the end of the line what it's for.
"The new iPhone."
"Moving along pretty well?"
"Slow as Christmas."
I walk into the store. The greeter, a well-intentioned but cheerless young man says hi and asks me if I have an appointment. Since this is not a colo-rectal exam, but an innocent attempt to give a business thousands of dollars, I tell him I do not. He seems pained.
"There's going to be a wait," he says. "I'll add you to the queue."
"Even if all I want is to give you my money?"
"Yes."
"Can you add me to the stack instead?"
Because, at this point, I'm not yet so irritated that I can't make lame-assed geeky jokes. I take up a position against the iPad display counter and observe. A half hour plods past. Turns out the old duffer in the iPhone line was right. Taking into consideration the money value of time, a hasty, back-of-the-envelope calculation indicates that the unlucky customer at the end of that line will end up spending roughly a million dollars for that fucking cell phone.
Enter Cleopatra. The cheerless greeter tells her she must wait, and almost instantly, she lights into him with the hard questions.
"What's that guy doing? He's just standing there with his arms folded. I just want to give someone my money. Where am I in this queue? Why isn't the queue more transparent? How many people are ahead of me?"
She is a human Gatling gun. On receiving unsatisfactory answers to all her questions, she proceeds to accost every single unoccupied employee.
"What are you doing?" she asks them. "Why can't you help me?"
This is getting fun.
Having made a single round, she simply starts over. She is fucking relentless. Finally, she's following one of them, a chubby woman with a panicked look, and just before she catches up with her, the woman turns to me:
"Sir, can I help you?" Urgency.
"Yes," I said. "Thank you."
And thank you, Cleopatra. In the sense that Joe Girardi is a "ballplayer's ballplayer", you are a hectoring bitch's hectoring bitch. I like you. I wouldn't fuck you with someone else's dick, and I shudder to think what it takes to keep you in fake lashes, finery, and microderm abrasion. But you've made me a benign and welcome presence to people who were treating me like a leper -- a good day's work.
I love the MacBook Pro, by the way. I'd recommend it to anyone. It is blazing fast, and so stable that the only thing that can crash it is Safari. I'm thinking about getting a Mac Mini next, so obviously, my experience with the Apple Store hasn't soured me at all on Apple's excellent, beautifully designed products. I also realize that the iPhone release date was a particularly hectic one for the store, so service was bound to be a little off. Still, there's just no way I'm going to make an appointment to give Apple two thousand dollars. That's silly. read more