Years ago in a fresher time I’d hear women complain about feeling invisible and figured it was because of their obvious facial hair or general air of disintegration.
Darl, I thought, it’s time to embrace laser hair removal and lose the defeatist attitude.
Don’t get me wrong; I too have periodically disappeared. Before the first born, I would confidently stride through department stores in my lunch break commanding attendance via a complex circuit of electro magnetic force. This was generated by a combination of enormous self-regard and a polyester viscose power suit.
Out of my way elderly person with no life to speak of, for the love of Dynasty I am in dire need of skin serum redolent with fletan oil and allantoin lest my unlined dermis become as etched and desiccated as yours. *shudder.
Flourishing my wallet and looking impatiently at my watch – tick tock, tick tock – I would be served immediately and deferentially.
Post infant I crept into the same department stores wearing the harried and bewildered expression of a supremely unprepared first time mother. Clad in stretch pants and voluminous top I would wheel the pram over to the beauty counter and feel just like an eight year old; too short to be spotted and too insignificant to serve.
So today, I needed to get the Apple TV doohickey fixed –
Doohickey? Where’d that come from? Obviously I meant to say thingamajig or thingamabob.
I began my quest for iService at the fashion capital. A line of apple staff-slash-bouncers lined the store frontage and I assumed my ‘assistance required now’ countenance.
Not entirely quick enough for mine, a young chap (for aren’t they all?) posed the inevitable, ‘can I help you?’ in a decidedly desultory manner.
My witty banter and winning ways were met with clinical detachment and far from solving the issue for me – as the on-line forum for bitching about Apple products had foreshadowed – he whipped out his iPad and made an appointment for me to see a technician in 5 days time. Not five minutes or a coffee/lunch/maybe some actual work five hours time – FIVE DAYS.
He was unmoved.
I went to another centre where the store was buzzing with energy. Dozens of blue polo shirt wearing Apple evangelists scurried about radiating geek in the way only dreamed about by the spotty Dungeons & Dragons loving boys of my youth. Ah yes, the days of a 4.77 Mega Hertz with 4 bit processor and a whole 2k of RAM – heady stuff, but not remotely attractive.
Explaining my Apple TV issue I was designated a time with a technician for some twenty minutes later. I wandered off to simulate work and grab a smoothie, popping back at the appointed time.
Propped up at the Genius Bar I waited for one of the Apple chaps to investigate my problem.
There was a lot of tough ass tech talk flying around me and every one of the diagnostic masters appeared to be called ‘dude.’
A tandoori blonde with sea anemone eyelashes and a cavernous cleavage appeared between me and another Apple day patient at the Genius Bar. Dudes from everywhere converged around her flexing their I.T muscles.
Apparently the team had been able to restore all her laptop settings and just needed to recover her photos. How long was it going to take to reinstate 30,000 selfies?
By now it was some thirty minutes of finger drumming and arranging my face from beguiling to infuriated; no amount of throat clearing and excuse me’s were effective in drawing attention to myself. I was invisible.
Eventually I slid off the stool and approached one of the green iPad bearing check in dudes. It only took one chinese burn and a head lock for him to acknowledge my vaguely hyperventilating presence and apologise.
I don’t know what happened. We’ll look at that right now. Dude! Help this lady!
Dude looked around. Green iPad pointed at me.
Oh, I’m so sorry Ma’am, I didn’t see you there. Have you been waiting long?
I didn’t trust myself to speak.