I’ve lost my memory. No, not my real memory. I can still very much remember that particular incident with the chair—which was farther from the desk than I thought—and the open salsa container that ended up in my lap when I went to sit in said chair, but that is neither here nor there. I am, however, referring to my computer’s memory, which has been wiped clean. After surviving months and months of getting thrown into backpacks, plopped onto desks and being left on for weeks at a time (oh the life of a college student), one teeny tiny software update led my hard drive to meet its maker, leaving my crashed computer’s memory as squeaky clean as the day I purchased it.

So, I took my little Mac to my local Apple store to get her checked out, and boy was I surprised to find that the man behind the “Genius Bar,” as Apple calls it, would be helping me and another customer at the same time. Being that I had made my appointment during my lunch hour, I was nervous—to say the least—with regard to his multitasking approach. Wasn’t my problem a bigger priority? Wasn’t my time precious? Surely this one man could not handle my situation and another person’s problem at the same time! But to my surprise, the whole appointment went off without a hitch. The computer specialist was able to help the other customer—let’s call him Mr. A—while my computer was having its diagnostics run. Similarly, all my questions were fully answered during the time it took to have Mr. A’s computer download new software. So, kudos to my new friends at the Apple store for being able to effectively multitask without neglecting their customers (especially considering there were nearly as many “blue shirts” in there as customers). However, this situation got me thinking. Is this how customer support now is going to work? Have we, as consumers, become so needy that our suppliers have to juggle us with both hands?

Mr. A is a prime example of consumer “neediness.” He clearly knew his way around computers and jumped at every chance to show it. He’s one of those guys who comes into the store just to hang out and be “among the geniuses.” For everything that the Blue-Shirted Apple Man had to say, Mr. A had a comment. I usually can muster up patience for people like this, but after losing every document and picture I had created in the past year, I was nearing the edge of my civility. I had almost escaped the Genius Bar counter with wits in tact and then he starts his spiel.
Here’s how our conversation went:
Me: (under my breath) Mother trucking, stupid-face computer!
Mr. A: (clearly oblivious to my state of aggravation) This Timecapsule program is awesome, like the greatest thing ever! (Which, I have to say, it is pretty nifty now that I know how to use it.)
Me: Uh huh (sounding exasperated).
Mr. A: Here let me just show you …
Me: … [this is where I may have rolled my eyes]
Mr. A: See here I have … wah wah wah (insert the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher here)
Blue-shirted Apple Man: It really is a great program, I’d highly advise you to use it next time.
Me: Wow, you’re right Mr. Blue-shirted Apple Man! I definitely will do that!

The lesson I learned from this little adventure is: let’s leave the in-store marketing to the professionals. Employees of big stores know quite a bit about the merchandise they’re selling, seeing as how it’s, well, their job. (They don’t call them “geniuses” for nothing.) As knowledgeable as Mr. A was, I was only prepared to hear what the Blue-shirted Apple Man told me. Come to think of it, what is it about those blue T-shirts that lead us to believe that they have all the answers?

Have you found yourself looking to support staff above all else? What do you think about know-it-all customers? Tell us here!

–Caitlin Sheridan