Ahhh the joys of giving advice.  Living in East Bumble, I am regarded as somewhat of a shaman, a man who tinkers with things that mere mortals were not meant to meddle.  I am well aware that I am no god, just ask any lady I’ve been with in the last five years, but with the people in my immediate geographical location knowing bugger-all about computers, their inner workings, and how to repair them when things go awry, I have become the local witch doctor.  “What is that thing he ties to his arm?” the more inquisitive will ask.  “It’s to draw the demons from inside of the metal box,” yet another confused onlooker replies.  Basically, it boils down to the fact that I have a technical brain, and am not bored to absolute suicidal madness when looking at lines of code, pulling cards out of computers, or any of the veritable myriad of activities that can be associated with computer repair.

There is one thing, however, that will drive me so raving mad, as to make my skin turn a viridescent hue, and has been, on occasion, known to make the legs of my pants rip in perfectly straight lines parallel to the seams.  To what unimaginable travesty could I possible be referring?  What is it that truly fills the medicine man’s head with rage?  Dumb-assed computer salesmen.  “Huh?” a murmur passes slowly across the audience.  Yes. . . The truly imbecilic polo-shirted fools who meander wistfully about every computer super center with no care in the world other than to fall at the feet of William Henry Gates III and speak, at his behest, so mindlessly of the endless virtues of Windows, that the friend, colleague, relative, or just plain old John Doe Jr. that you had convinced to take the plunge and buy a Mac and went to the store, balls-to-the-wall with anticipation of a new computing experience, has just strode through the sliding glass doors carrying in his arms an HP Pavilion, or Dell Dimension, or any other commodity PC that isn’t worth the cat feces which I regularly find thoughtfully placed at the foot of my bed.  “How could this happen!?” you cry.  “But the salesman said. . .” and the story is retold to you.  The glee with which the salesman recants all of his worthless training on how to extoll, through capacious amounts of deceit and falsehood, the benefits of using Windows.

Some may weep, some may throw conniption fit on the order of a four-year-old who has just been refused the right of a jaunt thru the candy store, but some, myself included, simply hang their heads in shame and wonder. “What went wrong?” The truth of the matter is, that we have done nothing wrong in our pitching of the greatest computing platform to a friend.  The problem lies in the desires of the sales staff of computer stores everywhere.  They know nothing about Macs. It’s not to say that they are idiots, though most usually are, they just don’t know the first thing about the Mac, and the truth is, people don’t want to risk talking about things that they know nothing about because of the very distinct possibility of them making a fool of themselves.  Most uninformed mac purchasing journeys, which I have pretended to take on many occasion, probably end when the salesmen say something on the order of, “Oh, nobody makes software for the Mac.” or, “The Mac costs more than this $8.17 Dell.” I have gone to the store, and played the guy who just walks in and thinks the Mac looks cool, and thusly would like to know more about one.  Not once have I been able to get past about three sentences regarding the Mac, with the exception of a trip to the Apple Store in Lennox during which I actually enjoyed, ENJOYED!, being talked to about the system I love.  My computer experiences in the super centers, in quite stark contrast, did not end so pleasantly.  Usually after about eighteen seconds in the Apple corner, I am lead away to the Windows PC section where the salesman typically tries to baffle me with BS or play the number game.  Usually, I say, something on the order of, “If you won’t show me what I want to look at, I’ll go to a store where someone will. . .” and walk out.

Occasionally, when I’ve gotten my daily dose of catnip and am feeling rather frisky, I will ask mind-numbing questions of the salesmen, and things typically tend to get very comical.  You ask your average shelf jockey about depth versus breadth of process path in the Intel, AMD, and PPC chip, if their feeble brain doesn’t burst on the spot, you usually, get a, “Let me find someone who can answer your question.” but they never can.  If you repeatedly throw up contradictions to their reasons to get you out of the Mac section, a la, “Doesn’t Microsoft make office for Mac?” or, “I’m into graphic design.” provided that they can’t come up with other reasons for you to follow them to the Windows section, they usually just shrug and walk off.  A cordial, “If you need any more help, let one of us know.” the only reply.  To this I wish to reply, ”More help, you’d have to help me first for me to receive more help.” I never do.  I just leave, usually content that I made the average salesperson feel like an idiot.  In case you haven’t noticed, it bring me great joy to make others feel like idiots, but only if they attempt to make me feel like one first.

Back to my alter ego of Parki Ekidnu, witch doctor, with a pattern of clockwork to rival the migration of geese, the friend who ignored all advice and bought the HP or whatever, will call and ask why his computer keeps downloading Siberian Bukkake films and sending his wife to Hot-Teens.com.  This is enough to bring tears to even my eyes.  Sometimes I’ll help a little, give them some pointers on how to avoid viruses; most users are unaware of the unwritten rule that states, “When you get the e-mail claiming that you won the Eighty-Bazillion Lira Turkish lottery, and all you need to do is click this link, (and/or leave twelve-thousand dollars in a brown paper bag in a subway locker), you delete it.” but more often than not, I tell them, “We spent a couple of hours deciding what computer was right for you.  When you went to the store, you ignored all of that advice and decided to listen to the salesman who cares about nothing but his pocket.  Go back to the store, and ask that salesman to fix your computer for you.” It’s hard advice, but someone has to give it.

The only thing it seems that we can do is to keep trying.  In a perfect world, there wouldn’t be computer salesmen, and I’d bet the Mac would have a much greater market share, but who knows.  This world is, however, woefully imperfect, and we must, as informed Mac users continue to tell our friends about the platform.  Eventually, everyone we know will get the message, and purchase a computer that they love.  Until then, all the tears and anger in the world won’t solve our computing quandary, but perseverance will.  The more people who know about the Macintosh the better the outlook is.  The only problem is that the information won’t come from the salesmen or apparently even from Apple, it has to come from us.  Word of mouth advertising is a very powerful thing, and while I know that most anyone reading this article preaches like a deacon about the Mac, we just have to continue.

For those of you that are still here, thanks for listening.  For those that aren’t, you didn’t miss much.  Amazing things are just around the corner in every facet of the Macintosh community, most of all this website, so keep reading.

I’m Shutting Up Now,
Clay