Cozying Up to the Best Bar In Town

My computer invited me out to a bar today. The Apple genius bar that is. It's been trying to get me out there for the past two months, refusing to charge until I agreed to a date. The month before I went to school it was just a matter of making our schedules work. I would have to drive out to Ardmore by six. Between work and simply not caring enough, I politely declined. Once I got back to school, there really was no excuse. It was becoming increasingly annoying to make sure it was plugged in at all times, and I wasn't able to take it anywhere outside my room. So I finally agreed to go to the bar with my computer. I made it clear to the computer, let's call him Mac, that I was not looking for this to become a routine thing. Mac and I jumped in the car after work today and headed down Montgomery Ave for our date at the bar. We arrived a little early (we had called ahead and made a reservation....well, I did. Mac's not the chivalrous type) so we wasted a little bit of time trying to mow down Main Line teens in the mall parking lot. Truthfully we didn't even have to try. It was like a video game where they just jump out at you. After that got old we sauntered into the store and up to the bar. We were still a little early, so we flirted with some other Apple goods. I tried to make Mac jealous by looking at some new computers, but he's not exactly old meat himself. Just as I was getting friendly with some snazzy speakers, they called our name. We pulled up a stool at the bar and a bartender came on over. There were three of them, each representing three stereotypical Mac users. The one to our left was California-surfer-esque. Cool, collected, he could fix your computer just by smiling at it. The one to my right was small and fidgety, pierced in any spare piece of skin. Our bartender (or genius as they preferred to be called) was the hipster. Faux-hawked, black plastic glasses, he looked like he had come straight from Haverford. "What can I get for you" he asked, whipping out his bar rag to give Mac a quick dusting. "Err, sorry about that, he's a bit dirty" I muttered as the genius began to panic about the amount of dust on him, "I live on the top floor of a very old building, lot's of dust". "oh?" he looked up "You live in Philadelphia?" He was interested, hipsters love Philadelphia, it's their mecca. "No....what? When did I say that? I live up at Bryn Mawr". "Oh." He looked back at the computer, angry, hipsters hate elitism. I explained that we were looking for just a little bit of juice for Mac. He needed a drink, if you will. He needed a new battery. The genius started pressing buttons. It soon became clear that he hadn't listened to what was wrong at all. I looked to the left. Surfer boy was charming the pastel pants suit off of the Main Line mother with the broken computer. I looked to the right, Mousy pierced guy was cracking up over a joke with the Asian girl who didn't know how to use Adobe. I looked ahead. Hipster was sighing at my computer. "Looks like your battery is dead" he finally replies. "err....yes?" I reply "Can I get a new one....?". "Yea, yea, sure.....can I clean your computer?" he abruptly asks. "uhhhh, of course...." I look around at all of the shiny white computers gleaming in the florescent lighting. I scramble to make up an excuse for why Mac is covered in crumbs and dust. "This guy's been all over for the past year" I try, "Europe, New Jersey, now here". Genius looks up "New Jersey? Really?". I can't tell if he's mocking me or honestly excited about New Jersey. After the events of my class the other day, I firmly believe that New Jersey has a cult following amongst Pennsylvanians. While they openly despise it, secretly they love it for our cheap beer and gas. He sets to work giving Mac a good cleaning, until he too shines like the freshly opened computers. I can't hold back a smile, he looks gooooood. The genius cracks a smile "Ahhh, there's really nothing like a sparkling white Apple product". My face must have twisted into some sort of judgmental smirk because he then sheepishly looked down at the ground and muttered "well...at least to me". He sticks a new battery into Mac and tells me that this ones on the house (I wish real bars had warranties). I shake his hand and ask his name, "Nathan, I'm Nathan". His name would be Nathan, such a hipster name. I wonder if he changed it to match his haircut. Mac and I skipped out of there, ready to begin a long week of thesising.  Sometimes a trip to the bar really does help your productivity.