The morning after I got back on my birth control pills I found out what it’s like to vomit them back up. It would’ve been a stay in bed all day kind of situation but my phone was possessed and godammnit if I had to cancel another Genius Bar appointment. My Apple products take priority over my personal health. I got in my car and, sick to my stomach, headed for the Apple Store at the Grove. If you’re unfamiliar with the parking structure at the Grove, it’s as if the architect was told to embody vertigo. “More turns! Sharper! Make them suffer.” By the time I reached the top of the literal hate spiral, I could feel the rest of my Frosted Flakes rising in my throat. I haphazardly parked my car and frantically looked for a bathroom. I hate vomiting. I’m one of those people who cries when I throw up and am shocked when I’m still alive after it’s over. My ultimate nightmare is throwing up in a public restroom. So, as I ran through the fancy Grove parking lot, begging for a bathroom and praying that I didn’t miss my Genius bar appointment, it finally hit me that it was too late. I could feel the barf in my throat. I ran to the closest thing: a trash can. I repeat, dry heaving in a trash can in the busy Grove parking lot is my personal hell. I tried to ignore the stares as I held my own hair back and tried to not to cry while dry heaving into the abyss of Sprinkles crumbs discarded by Hollywood anorexics. The things I do for my Apple products.
When my nausea passed, I soldiered on to the Apple Store. I would NOT relinquish my appointment at the coveted Genius Bar. I hadn’t showered, my breath smelled like vomit and frosted flakes, and as I entered the pristine, posh store I couldn’t help but imagine what my vomit would look like splattered on the white walls. I checked in at the Genius Bar and peeled back my crusty hair, hoping for an Apple Genius with greasy locks who could identify with my situation. Due to my life never working out the way I want it to, I ended up getting the cutest Apple Genius guy. Despite my state, Cute Apple Guy and I started joking around and talking about how he’s been hungover before too (I started to tell him I wasn’t hungover but quickly realized it was better than launching into a story about how my birth control makes me nauseous). He fixed my phone, we shared a moment, and by the end of our session he set a second appointment for me later that day so he could help me sync my laptop with my phone and blah blah I don’t get technology.
I rushed home, showered, brushed my teeth, and was back faster than a desperate single woman who lives alone with her cat…in other words, me. I arrived at the Genius Bar, clean and minty, and flipped my hair around, searching for Cute Apple Guy. An unfortunate looking Genius (I’m not gonna say the word ugly…okay, I am) stepped in front of me and introduced himself. I explained to him that Cute Apple Guy specifically helped me earlier, and Ugly Apple Guy tried to convince me that he could help me with whatever Cute Apple Guy was going to help me with. I, in turn, insisted that Cute Apple Guy was the only Genius who knew how to help me. We had a stare down that ended in Ugly Apple Guy begrudgingly pulling Cute Apple Guy off computer repair duty to help me. Never get in the way of a girl who took the time to shower and brush her teeth for a guy. Reunited once again, the flirting resumed. Cute Apple Guy took advantage of my low Apple IQ and told me he had to put his number in my phone to make sure the contacts synced properly. He said he could get fired for putting his own number in my phone; any guy who claims he’s risking his job to ask a girl out is definitely a smooth operator. To top it off, he offered to fix my laptop if I chose to take advantage of his number.
By the time I left, I was walking on air. For a girl with low self-esteem and a fairly boring life, it’s the greatest thing in the world for someone you find attractive to give you their number. I called my mom (YES I CALL MY MOM WHEN SOMEONE ASKS ME OUT ON A DATE GET OVER IT) and she told me he probably does that to every girl he helps. Thanks for the crushed hopes and dreams, mom. Now I know why I have low self-esteem.