But something wasn't right.
For starters, I imagined I might be greeted by an angel of some sort, or at the very least, Adam and Eve themselves would usher me into paradise. Instead, a man named Ty welcomed me into an air-conditioned glass cube. Ty was dressed in a suit.
I felt like Alice when she’d just been plunged into the rabbit hole. Where were the turquoise skies, the picturesque gardens and manicured lawns? There were no lush green trees, in fact, there was little trace of greenery at all. Luscious plants were substituted with silver gizmos and richly pigmented flowers were replaced by rainbow hued gadgets with white nuclei. And in lieu of succulent red apples, in the center of nirvana, there was a great big monochrome Apple suspended in the air like a shrine.
Ty led me down a spiral staircase and through rows of wooden tables boasting the latest technologies. Then we arrived before the MacBook Air.
My breath couldn't help but escape my lips in a whistle. It was amazingly, provokingly, arrestingly, beautiful; I wasn't sure whether to cry or bow.
“Lift it,” he urged softly.
I looked at the price tag.
“Oh no, I couldn’t,” I responded, shaking my head, “I couldn't possibly afford it.”
“That’s okay,” he said, “You don’t have to buy it; just feel how light and feathery it is.”
I was tempted. But I knew how these salespeople worked. First they would assure me that I wouldn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. They would then take me through a Powerpoint presentation, illustrating the kind of life I could have if I were to indulge. A good salesman would make me wonder how I lived for so long without the product. And in the end, when I swiped my card and took home yet another toy I never needed, they would lead me to believe it was my idea in the first place. Then they would pocket the commission.
“Go on,” he coaxed, gently nudging me toward the mouthwateringly thin, gorgeously sleek laptop.
Despite my better judgment, despite the voice in my head, and despite my celebrated self-control, I reached down and picked it up.
It felt like a cloud in my hands.
I thought about my chunky HP back at home; a heifer in comparison. Although I had to admit I liked the comfort of the familiar operating system, PC’s just seemed so- I don’t know…90’s. In the war of Bill Gates vs. Steve Jobs, it was obvious which would win.
Ty’s coaxing had absolutely nothing to do with this decision. I came to this conclusion on my own. My PC was constantly contracting viruses and more importantly, it didn’t have an Apple logo on its face.
I needed MacBook Air.
Oh come on, don’t judge me. You’d have done it too; in fact chances are you already have. Even Eve understood the lure of an Apple…
Moral of the story?
Never trust your GPS. My iPhone hadn’t led me to paradise. It certainly wasn’t the Garden of Eden. But there were snakes. Tens of them. Charming, cajoling, sweet-talking serpents.
And they’re not just at the Apple store- they’re everywhere. They’re in the dressing rooms at Barneys. Driving glossy Mercedes’ on your way to work. They broadcast on your LED flat-screens and parade on the billboards at the side of the Manhattan Bridge. They’re dressed in suits on Wall Street and wearing Chanel on Fifth. They convince you that the key to happiness is everywhere but within you.
So you want the real moral?
Never trust a serpent in a suit.