How To Seduce a Genius

I brought my fancy new phone to the Apple Store Genius Bar and the place was crawling with disappointed fancy phone owners. The wait, I was told, would be twenty minutes. To kill time I messed around with my phone. I was texting with Danny about some abstract inside joke that we'd been expanding on for way longer than normal people would, and finally my genius arrived. His name tag said Devin. I told Devin that my phone was making occasional claims about a lack of SIM card and that sometimes it failed to jingle when I got a text. Devin gave me some technical theories behind the problem and told me he'd have to wipe it clean to start anew. The process would take about seven minutes, he said, and would for some reason be conducted in a back room. I tossed out a few last-minute text messages before handing over my connection to the entire world. I sat there feeling naked for the obligatory seven minutes, hoping that Devin would reconnect me soon.

When Devin returned, my phone was empty. My wallpaper was a stock photo of some water droplets. Devin re-installed my contacts and calendars from iCloud and told me that the SIM would register now. I asked about the text messages. "I was texting before you got here," I said, "and the text came through but the phone didn't make a sound."

"Let's test it," he said. "Can you get somebody to text you?"

I asked Danny. Can you text me please?

The two of us hovered over my clean new phone. The air was heavy with anticipation and satellite frequencies. "What were you doing before, when you were texting and it didn't ring?" he asked.

"I was in an app."

"What app were you in?"

"Um, OKCupid."

"OK, well let's go back into OKCupid and see what happens now."

Great. This was exactly how I pictured my trip to the Apple Store would go, flipping through my online dating profile with the Genius Bar guy and trying to pretend it wasn't weird. By the way I have like three apps on my phone in total; one is that snake game and another is OKCupid. I am seriously committed to my singleness.

So Devin and I were kicking back, you know, cruising for online love interests, when Danny's text came through. You are so sexy. "See!" I said. "It didn't ring."

"Hmm," said Devin. He took the phone and made a couple adjustments. "Try it now. Can you have him text again?"

Can you text again, please? I wrote. We're doing a test at the Apple Store.

I closed the text box and we waited. The response came. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.

"No ring," Devin said. "OK, can I see the contact information for your friend? I want to check something." Dutifully I pulled up Danny's contact information and Devin poked around a bit. "I think I might have fixed it," he said. "Want to have him text you again?"

Can you text again? I asked. Devin and I waited again, but nothing happened. Looking at the blank screen of my phone was about as awkward as checking out my OKCupid matches together. "OK," said Devin. "I'm going to text you from my phone. What's your number; I'll delete it as soon as we're done."

I didn't care about that; my phone number is not information I protect or disseminate with any sort of restraint. I kiss a lot of frogs, as it were. Devin texted me, Test, and my phone jingled. "It worked," he said. He texted again. Test. Jingle. Test. Jingle. Test. Jingle. "So it's not all your contacts. It only happens with some of them."

"Yeah, it's sporadic," I said.

Devin had my phone in his hand at this point, so he opened Danny's text box back up. Text again pls, he wrote. He started explaining that some of my contacts were probably corrupt and might need to be replaced manually. He said it as a sort of apology, as if this wasn't the type of mindless tedium I live for. The phone jingled again and in unison we registered Danny's reply. By the way, you left something pink and lacy at my house when you ran out this morning in such a rush.

I could see Devin choke deeply on a snort. He believed that he was starting to understand the demographic I fell into: single white women in their extremely late twenties who use their phones primarily for ho'ing. I felt the need to clarify. "OK," I said. "He's joking. I wasn't at his house this morning. He's my friend. He's gay." On cue, Danny followed up. It fits me though, so I'm not sure if it's yours or mine.

Devin was a professional. "He's very funny," he said.

"Yes, he is."

Devin went back into my messages and erased his text history, deleting my record of his contact information and protecting himself from my clearly insatiable libido. As he did, he explained again about the storing of contacts and the transfer of corruption. It was broken down fairly simply, but he repeated himself a couple times. Then he handed me back my phone. That should have been the end of our interaction, but we'd been through a lot together in the past thirty minutes. Devin kept explaining the problem with my contacts and I nodded and smiled and thanked him a lot. The goodbye was dragging. He kept talking. I kept nodding. I put on my coat and scarf and then we stood there in silence, shifting from foot to foot.

"Well, have a good night," I said. Unsure of how to end things, Devin stuck out his hand. We shook and I headed out into the evening with my new phone jingling in my pocket.