JULY 11, 2024 – The saga continues, but before I provide today’s installment, I have to comment on the word “saga.” It’s an old hardy Scandinavian word that has survived wars, plagues, famines, volcanoes (think “Iceland”), and modernity (so far). It means “story,” in old Norse, modern Scandinavian languages, and English, of course. In the Viking Age, the word acquired an element of drama and adventure. When I was a young kid, my dad liked to tell me stories about the vikings, which tales he called “sagas.” Once he opened the glass doors of the high-boy secretary in the den and carefully removed a black leather-bound book with simple white lettering on the spine: EN SAGA AV EN SAGA. “A story of a story,” said Dad in translation. “The Old Norse, the vikings, had many sagas,” he explained, “mostly to kill time during the long dark winters.”
My computer saga, however, is killing an inordinate amount of time in the heat of the long bright days of summer; time that could be much better spent on other pursuits or utterly wasted on other distractions—such as following the Biden saga on my iPhone newsfeed.
Speaking of the Biden saga . . . no, let’s not, until the saga concludes, as most eventually do.
Back to the saga at hand: Soon after checking in for my appointment at the local Apple orchard, I I met my assigned “Genius.” (As an aside, I think the Apple label for “retail techie” is, well, genius. Marketing genius.) I told the story of my MacBook’s errant ways, and the “Genius” listened attentively. Her initial conclusion was that the device would have to be shipped off to Apple Super-Geniusland for more sophisticated diagnostic testing than could be conducted in the local orchard. “All we can do here,” she said, “is run some basic blood tests. Where we send devices, they do the equivalent of MRIs. Once a problem is identified, the component that’s causing it is replaced.”
I heard every word she said, but I didn’t hear, “I’ll get you a new MacBook Pro. Wait right here. I’ll be back with it in a minute.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “I’m not liking this. The Genius the other day—Jordan, was his name . . .” At the mention of his name, I happened to see him out of the corner of my eye, sitting on the other side of the long spacious table where several “Geniuses” were engaged with their customers.
Hearing his name, Jordan looked up and recognized me, probably because I was the only person who was wearing a mask both on our first encounter and again today. At that moment, my new “Genius” thought to ask him whether he’d completely deleted everything off my MacBook Pro before he’d conducted the recovery. His answer was “No.” He’d run only the recovery function.
Upon hearing this, my new “Genius” suggested that she take this vital step. Before she did so, however, she was interrupted by an older couple who didn’t understand how the orchard worked, just as I hadn’t on the occasion of my initial visit last Monday morning. They were looking for a replacement wristband for an Apple watch, and though it didn’t take a “Genius” to field the question, my “Genius” did so politely and patiently. When she returned to my higher level project, I complimented her on how she’d handled the couple. “It’s how I would want to be treated,” I said. When she gave me a deadpan look, I realized that maybe she’d misinterpreted my remark as a criticism—that I wasn’t being treated as I wished to be, as the couple had been,
Nonetheless, after completing remedial work on my MacBook Pro, she told me the machine was now ready to set up, as if it were brand new, straight from the factory. “See if it behaves itself after you’ve set it up,” she said, cheerfully. “If it does, great. If it doesn’t, come back and we’ll ship it out to be looked at. I’ll even set up an appointment with another genius.”
Only after she said, “Very nice meeting you,” and shook my hand did I see that the follow-up appointment was for three hours later. I’d had enough of Apple for an afternoon. I had places to go, people to meet—outside the orchard—so I packed up my gear and exited the store and the mall, hopeful that I would not have to return anytime soon.
An hour later I set up the machine from scratch, just as I had on Tuesday. So far, so good. I reloaded my Microsoft Office 365 suite of apps. Thumbs up. I then went to book club, came back, opened the “fixed” laptop, and tried to bypass the password by using my fingerprint. The latter method didn’t work, despite it having worked before I’d left for book club. Bad sign. I tried it again, but still, no response. And again a third time before I resorted to the fallback position of entering my password. The machine returned to duty but only after it had undergone a quick restart and confounding me with the prompt, “Your computer was restarted because of a problem.”
Seeing “Problem” was a problem. I closed and opened the screen; disconnected, then connected the power cord—operations that had completely discombobulated the machine yesterday, forcing me to repeat the recovery process and take the (damned) computer back to the Apple orchard today. None of these actions disturbed the machine’s mood or psyche, but how do I know trouble will return tomorrow or someday later?
At this late hour I’m not confident that I can avoid having the MacBook Pro sent off to the MacGeniuses for an “MRI.” Am I upset? Yes, but not entirely. First, the saga isn’t over yet, and I’m growing “curiouser and curiouser” as to how it will end and how it can be worked into my imaginary Netflix series. Second, the entire operation—especially the set-up procedure repeated twice now—has been a great exercise of the mind and memory. Undertaking “new challenging stuff,” to sharpen the mental knife, as it were, is a good way to slow the effects of aging. Third, I’ve overhauled the organization of my backed up files and folders. Henceforth, by that measure alone, I will be far more efficient, compensating for the time devoted to this continuing saga.
In bonus territory, I’m enjoying the salient benefit of my MacBook Pro(ject): distraction from the woes and worries of the world.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
