Apple non-Intelligence . . .

Since the moment close to two decades ago when I first opened the slender, rectangular white box—minimalist and elegant in design—containing my new iPhone, I have been a devoted Apple patron.

Early in the 2000s, breaking our backs as farmers and vintners on twenty acres in north county San Diego, walkie-talkies from Radio Shack served us well as we trekked in opposite directions through the orange groves and vineyard.

We did live rural but were certainly aware of the debut of Apple’s first iPhone in 2007. Our first purchase of an iPhone came after several years; it would replace the Motorola transportable cellular phone built into our car, its antenna soaring skyward from the roof.

Little did I know how that product introduction would overwhelm, confuse, and intimidate me for close to twenty years that followed, up to and including my recent Apple adventure. I kept saying to myself:

I am in Apple product hell.

I am in Apple product hell.

I just bought a new iPhone 16 and a new Mac desktop—both purchases woefully overdue. This, along with the ensuing set-up of both devices, has left me with vast gaps of technical savvy and churning pangs of fear and anxiety as I question:

 Will I ever catch up?

Not long after losing my husband in 2015 and moving next door to my oldest son, this son walked into my house barely managing the giant white box which contained a new Mac desk top computer.

It was a great computer until it wasn’t.

When John, my computer guy, told me he couldn’t help the slowness of my desk top computer—slower than a Manuka honey drip—and strongly recommended a new one, I had to act.

I’m a writer. A writer who cannot write longhand—hate my handwriting—and cannot write on a woefully out-of-date laptop balanced precariously on my knees.

I can only write in my little corner office at my desk on a desk top computer. Large-ish screen.

This led me to last weekend, the Apple weekend. It was my turn to surprise myself with both a new phone and a new computer. I could ask my next-door son for help, but if I did, he would buy both for me. I could ask my partner, who can surgically dissect the human body, is an extraordinary chef, and continually charms the heck out me, but he is less techie than I am.

Consequently, the purchase fell to me.

On my own.

Foolishly, I thought I could upgrade to a new phone and buy a new computer the same day.

Last Friday I entered the Apple store with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. Crossing the threshold into the brightly lit space, a hum of energy and excitement greeted me and my uncertainty. An eager dark blue t-shirted young woman, holding an iPad, approached. In glancing around, I observed a sea of blue t-shirts throughout the vast space. Prussian blue, I noted to myself—a symbol of depth and stability in various cultures.

I felt wildly unstable.

“I’m wanting to upgrade my phone and my computer,” I said meekly.

“Stand right over there for a moment and I’ll have someone help you.”

From my new vantage point, I surveyed the room again. Sprinkled among the blue shirts were all sorts of folks, many old like me. The blue shirts—a symphony of well-heeled, well-trained super techies screaming diversity and harmony—appeared in many incarnations.  Old. Young. Straight. Gay. Other. Piercings, tattoos, vibrantly colored hair and fingernails. Baseball hat, braids, beanies. And Birkenstocks. Obviously, no other dress code requirements except the t-shirt—a custom, I would learn, throughout the organization for over four decades.

“Hello. I’m Trevor. How can I help you?”

Standing six feet, three inches tall and movie-star handsome, my Apple advisor smiled as he pushed back his dark blue beanie which coordinated nicely with his blue t-shirt and black cargo pants. From this first moment, Trevor treated me like royalty—a guest in his techie palace. No question too inane; no rush to the next customer. My confusion over the Cloud, QR codes, my Apple ID, the charger cord change and the various side buttons explanations presented no problem for Trevor.

“Let me help with that,” he repeated often during our three hours together.

My new best friend, Trevor, arranged a $250 trade-in for my old phone, and we did the deal, after which he escorted me to more nice advisors—the set-up crew. Here began the transfer of all my data from the old phone to the new phone—and serious hunger pangs. It was an hour and a half after my lunchtime.

Turns out, it took four and a half hours to trade in my old phone, purchase a new one, and transfer everything. Too exhausted to go on to the computer, I left with a new phone—a soft and lovely shade of teal—and went directly to Pink Berry where I enjoyed a large lemon-yellow Yuzu Meringue flavored yogurt with strawberries and almonds for late lunch.

I took a break on Saturday spending the day slightly—make that significantly—overwhelmed by my new purchase, doing my best to get up to speed. I spent a great deal of the late afternoon repackaging my 2019 desktop albatross in its’ original slanted box which I had hauled from the basement.

I returned to the Apple store in Fashion Valley on Sunday, early enough to be there when it opened at eleven o’clock.

San Diego - 70 degrees and sunny!

As I neared the store, I came upon a large group of people. All facing the glass doors of the store as if on the starting block of a forty-yard dash. Large and small. Old and young. Men, women, and kids. The moment the doors were opened, the group charged.

Inside, a smiling collection of—again, techies dressed in blue t-shirts—waiting.

Amazingly, we all got assistance. Mine, another young guy, not as tall and not as handsome as Trevor, but extremely pleasant and patient. And muscled. I was in Mason’s hands this time. Muscled Mason.

In what I deemed record-breaking time, I had purchased a new iMac, and contents of my old one were transferred. Again, a $250 trade-in and a short time at the set-up desk. At one point when we were waiting for updates, I asked Mason about the t-shirt colors. I remembered red ones. When did they change colors? How often, I wondered?

He beamed, “We wear these blue ones, until April 1 when we switch to green for spring, summer and into the fall. On November 1, we change to holiday red through the end of the year. Then back to blue!”

When his work was done, Mason bid me farewell and escorted me to the set-up table to the capable hands of Luis. Slim bi-lingual Luis had multiple silver rings on his fingers of both hands which he delighted in showing me. Turns out he bought a couple from a silversmith in San Francisco, and he would have loved to share her contact info. I declined but welcomed his oversight of the final set-up of my new device.

Before he finished, Luis was called elsewhere, and Martha replaced him. A pleasantly rounded Martha—lime green hair, right arm sleeve tattoo, various piercings—willingly took care of me in a warm unhurried manner until the job was done.

She struggled, however, with getting my new computer back into the box; I tried helping. The lid would not close. At a point of near frustration, another blue-shirted, pony-tailed young man walked by, jacket slung over his shoulder.

“I can help,” he said.

And he did. Of course, he did. He was a packaging specialist who I imagine was trained to adhere to Steve Jobs belief that packaging plays a crucial role in shaping a customer’s perception of the product. “People DO judge a book by its cover,” Jobs famously said.

With that, I left the Apple store and went home with my newest Apple product. No longer in Apple product hell.

Still wondering if I'll ever catch up, however.

As I drove home, I remembered buying that first phone long ago. I asked the man helping us, “Tell me why I should buy an Apple phone instead of another brand?”

He paused, smiled, and replied, “You’re looking at the reason.”

It’s true. You can walk into an Apple store and a fleet of intelligent, helpful—and patient—people are there to solve your problems.

They certainly were for me. Trevor, Mason, Luis, Martha and the packaging specialist whose name I didn’t get unfortunately.

At home, as I plugged in my new computer, I registered only one regret.

I forgot to go for yogurt.

This is not a paid testimonial for Apple.

But it could be.