You are NOT gonna believe THIS!

My iPhone has been replaced by the wonderful people at Apple. Turns out they were none too happy about the small crack that had developed UNDER the surface of the glass. I was quick to learn that "small cracks" are generally not covered by the Apple warranty and that my fate was dangling in the balance between Mac Genius (that's actually what they call themselves)... as I was saying... my fate was dangling between Mac Genius #1 and Mac Genius #2.

Mac Genius #1 was as you might expect... a bit of a snob. I say that with love. You see, as a Mac user myself, I too am a snob. You basically sign a piece of paper when you buy an Apple product that says you agree to be an elitist snoot. That means that all who own Apple products are elitist snoots... myself included. My dad and brother, missionary friends of mine, more people than I can count... all a bunch of bourgeois, holier-than-thous.

Membership has it's privileges.

ANYWAY... something weird happened.

No sooner had I laid down my broken iPhone than I was virtually tagged "infected". This guy (Mac Genius #1) who would otherwise have gladly shared an elitist drink with me under better circumstances, was now barely willing to make eye contact with me.

It was so dehumanizing.

Humiliating.

What was happening? I was a card-carrying iSnob of several years now. I had tenure! Now all of a sudden, I'm diseased.

It was bad enough that my iPhone was clearly a first-generation piece of antiquated junk (understand something people... my iPhone was almost a WHOLE YEAR OLD!!!!). Now, to add insult to injury, it is a BROKEN, eight-month-old iPhone!

PEOPLE, PUH-LEASE!

No doubt, this guy's personal iPhone was probably bleeding-edge-current, fully functional, and spit-shined with a $20 5-pack of pre-moistened, elitist tissues for sale next to the $60 rubber, iPhone covers. You know, the ones next to the Hemp iPhone Shammies.

He did not like me. It was evident. But even Nazis have to do their job, so Mac Genius #1 plugged my iBrick into his laptop and proceeded to restore it to current factory settings (Gee, I hadn't thought of that!). As my iPhone proceeds to restore, Mac Genius #1 accepts another mindless customer and leaves me sitting in a pile of my own shame.

Thanks, Kevin (or whatever your name is). Naturally, I can't read.

About this time, I start to realize that I am headed straight for a "man, I'm so sorry" dismissal from the Apple store with a dead iPhone in my pocket.

I had to act fast.

Mac Genius #2 was a scruffy looking fellow. He was no older than me and literally... LITERALLY FOLKS... had a handlebar mustache!!! I honestly had no idea they still made those!

This was NOT going to be easy.

I was up against a MEGA SNOB. I felt like Luke Skywalker in the Rancor Pit. When I had arrived, this was supposed to be a little Jedi mind trick here, a little wave of the hand there, and then I'm out with my new iPhone. But when Jabba kicked the switch and dropped me in with Mac Genius #2... I was in a whole new world of hurt.

It's kill or be killed in the Rancor pit... so I had to move.

As I got to my feet, Mac Genius #2 was already devouring the poor beast that had fallen into his snare just before me. She was an ultra-tan, 60-something woman with leathery skin and a pair of TOP GUN shades that she was ACTUALLY WEARING INDOORS. I swear, if her husband had called her "Iceman" I would not have been surprised.

What happened next is not something that I am proud of.

As she sat there in the jaws of Mac Genius #2, I had a very real moment where my inner snob kicked in and I mindlessly judged her for being there with her broken iPhone. I am totally serious; it was as if my broken iPhone was not as broken as her broken iPhone. Like I said, I'm not proud of it... but it happened and I have to come clean.

Back to the story...

Cautiously, I decided to joke with Mac Genius #2. As dangerous... NO... as suicidal as that decision would normally be, it was my only hope at swaying his affections into my favor, thereby negating the damage inflicted by Mac Genius #1 and giving me a real shot at leaving with a new iPhone.

Everything was at stake.

As a matter of necessity, the jokes would have to be elitist in nature. Rude (not crude)... but certainly on par with the polished assault that Mac Genius #1 had already achieved when he handed me my own head in a brown bag marked "puppy poo". If I had even a tiny prayer of connecting with Mac Genius #2, I was going to have to deliver some stunning piece of comedic prose.

Before I go too much further, let me explain something to you. You see, all customers are at a distinct disadvantage in an Apple store. Much like in a court of law, in an Apple store, certain things are assumed to be true, whether or not there is any evidence to support that claim. For example, it is assumed that a Mac Genius is absolutely brilliant. I mean, second only to the godhead. So it is written... so shall it be. For that reason, a Mac Genius generally need not say anything in order to legitimize this superiority. It is understood. Deal with it.

Then there are the rest of us. All who walk under the sleek black threshold, past the giant glowing APPLE, and enter into the throne room... the holy of holies... are ravaging idiots. So it is written... so shall it be. You may as well accept this now, for it makes the death that much more bearable.

Do not be fooled into acting cool like the Mac Genius in front of you. He is silent because he has nothing to prove. His superiority is sealed tightly within the super-sweet T-shirt that he is wearing... and NO... you CAN'T GET ONE UNLESS YOU'RE AN EMPLOYEE; only the greatest of fools asks THAT question.

As I was saying, don't even try to act like one of them by watering-down your vocabulary to the one-syllable, yes-what-no-huh-hmms that they most commonly mutter. When a Genius uses that vernacular, it does appear as though she is brilliant beyond all compare. But that goes with the unspoken truth of her superiority. Should you try to volley with her using such simple speech, it will only serve to prove that you are a chimpanzee and that chimps can only be trusted to eventually start slinging their own poo at one another.

No, my friends, silence will not make you seem smart whilst grazing among the Geniuses. It will only support the assumption that you are a mindless goon. Sadly, the burden of proof is upon you, for it is only you who can establish your exceptional mental capacity in order to find safe harbor amongst the elite. As dangerous a proposition as it may be (considering how stupid you probably really are) speaking is a MUST.

As you must have determined by now, my first joke would have to be brutal and precise. A snobbish joke gone wrong is CERTAIN DOOM, far worse than just staying silent in the first place. Landing the PERFECT BLOW would require a deftness that one scarcely conjures at will. Only in moments of the greatest inspiration can one hope for a comedic dagger so shrewd, so stunningly precise that it slices straight through the appearance of desperation and lands squarely in the bulls-eye of mega-genius-overlord.

I was moving cautiously. Crafting. Maybe even praying a little. Thinking.

Think, Luke, think!

That's when it happened; it was as if all of Heaven smiled upon me in the brightest shaft of blinding light. It's a good thing the old lady had on those shades after all, lest she be blinded by the glory of that moment.

In a move more procedural than snide, Mac Genius #2 asked the lady (presently draped like a rag doll across his gaping jaws) if her iPhone was synced with a Mac or a Windows computer.

Time stood still.

Literally, everyone froze.

I swear, even the "Build-A-Bear" stuffing-blower was silenced, two full stories below.

It was so quiet, you could have heard a super-sleek, magnetic power cord detach.

Beads of sweat formed across my upper lip in sheer anticipation as she adjusted her "Iceman" glasses. The permanent smoker's wrinkles around her lips began break from their leathery perch and form a shape.

Power flickered on a dozen dangling, credit-card-processing necklaces.

A gaggle of Final Cut Pros turned... their polished, bald heads reflecting the shaft of burning light from above.

Mac Genius #1, moving against time like Keanu in the Matrix, turned and glared at me, knowing full-well that it was MY FATE that was hanging in the balance. There was no charity in his fiery eyes. He wanted me dead. We both knew it. But it was no longer inside the palm of his clammy hands.

God had arrived and was Himself officiating this celestial event.

No, not even the Mayans could call this one. It was anyone's game.

and then it came...

"Windows."

HOLY WARRANTY REPLACEMENT SERVICE BATMAN!

I WAS HANDED THE UPPER HAND... A BORDERLINE GUARANTEE OF VICTORY!

WINDOWS? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

As if he had just bitten into the wrong end of a donkey, Mac Genius #2 sneered, almost terrified, as he obligatorily asked her, "Vista or XP?"

In that moment, a full mile away, all of the rotisserie chickens at Boston Market would cease their rotations, eagerly awaiting her response.

"XP."

THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT TO DO!

Mac Genius #2 was completely upended. Oh sure, he remained composed. He didn't say anything rude or belittling to the ultra-hip, Top Gun aficionado... but his handlebar mustache quivered ever-so-slightly and I swear his eyes twitched... just a little bit. I could scarcely believe my good fortune! Somehow, despite his enormous gaping jaws crunching down on her bones, she had managed to inflict pain on this ravenous beast!

There was no need for jokes. I had been saved! She was all the joke one could ever hope for! A WINDOWS USER? SERIOUSLY? NO WONDER HER iPHONE WAS BROKEN! MWAHAHAHAHA!

My mouth stayed shut. Trying to take a poke at Mac Genius #2 would just be unsportsmanlike right now. He was wounded. Bleeding out all over the floor. It was messy.

What happened next would go down in history as the final nail in Mac Genius #1's coffin and would spell certain victory for me.

In a bobbling, bumbling flurry of blind-sided confusion, Mac Genius #2 swung his hand past the service computer, unwittingly snaring his finger with the cable that was attached to my CRACKED iPHONE. Moving too quickly, his mistake would yank my iPhone from the counter-top and send it hurdling to the floor below.

CRACK!

No one could see it, but the sound was beautiful... er... I mean, tragic (but seriously folks... it was BEAUTIFUL).

My phone, covered under warranty or not, had just been hurdled to the hard floor by the very demigod who had been sent to slay me. Mac Genius #1 could not look me in the eye as I handed him back the bag labeled "puppy poo" and gave him a knowing glare.

As Mac Genius #2 placed my phone back onto the counter, I calmly responded "Well now, who's to say what broke it?"

Several moments later, I was leaving with my replacement iPhone.

Victory is mine!