My Ten Year Love Affair with Apple

Dear Apple Customer Support: I want to report a rude and obnoxious customer who was overheard using harsh words… yes, even profanity… to workers in your store at Danbury Fair Mall last night. No, never mind… that was me! Sorry about that.

Flashback to a year ago when the battery on my iPhone 6 wouldn’t hold a charge: With the help of expert technical support, the problem was identified as a 500 charge battery that was chugging along with nearly a 1,000 charge total. That’s pretty good considering that nothing is forever and anything mechanical or electrical will eventually wear out. Sixty minutes and $79 later the phone was like new.

Déjà vu.

A few weeks ago my wife’s iPhone 6 encountered the same problem. Expecting the usual Apple quality service, we made an appointment to have the battery replaced with plans to drop off the phone after work, have dinner, and come back to pick it up. I should know by now that expectations and reality sometimes follow different paths. Now starts a different chapter in the Apple support experience.

The floor manager we encountered when we checked in, after we scoured the store for a few minutes to find her, scolded us for showing up early. “Nobody comes early for an appointment!” Well, I do. As she was dismissing me as a stereotypical technically incompetent Boomer, I didn’t mention that I thought she was acting out a stereotypical Millennial behavior that gives them all a bad name. “Just walk around the mall for 15 minutes and come back. Oh, by the way, we may not even have your battery in stock since there is a $29 special and everybody is doing it.” Thanks for making that my problem and lowering expectations before even starting!

Instead of a leisurely walk to the restaurant, we kept a close eye on the time and just browsed in one store before returning at the appointed time. Again, we searched for someone, ANYONE, who would talk to us. After walking around for about five minutes, I finally ambushed an Apple rep in a Star Trekish Redshirt, and we were instructed to sit at a table and wait for the next technician. Fifteen minutes later, a man walked up and began talking to us. He was friendly, technically competent, and the fear that this was a doomed venture started to ebb away slowly. The diagnosis was exactly as we expected, and I signed my name on an iPad with my finger for a $29 new battery. Then the other shoe dropped. “Did they tell you that there is a two-hour wait?” Well, no, but it is what it is. At least we don’t have to rush our weekday date night dinner.

Fast forward two hours: There weren’t as many people in the store when we returned, precisely on time because we didn’t want to incur the Wrath of Khan and risk having our brains erased. It was still like pulling teeth to find someone who wanted to help us. I walked over to the door that seemed to lead to the inner sanctum of Appleness and lassoed the first Redshirt headed to that door. “Let me see if it’s ready.” It wasn’t. “Yours is the next one to be serviced, and if they don’t get to it, I’ll do it myself. Just have a seat, and I’ll get back to you.” How long would it be? According to this Redshirt, about fifteen minutes. He was then beamed to a distant planet in another galaxy and never seen again.

Fast forward another hour: Nothing! Nada! Crickets! Now I see my favorite floor manager lurking by the door to the Apple black hole where phones go but never return. “Can you tell me where we are in the queue now? We’ve been waiting for quite a while.” Of course, my name wasn’t on her list now as it had been over three hours ago. Obviously annoyed, she finally figured out that we were waiting for a repair, found my name on another list, and said, “Oh yes. It’s ready.” Then in a condescending voice, she scolded me again, “You know they don’t just come out. You have to ask somebody.” The first utterance of profanity was under my breath as I walked away. I was pissed. When I told my wife what just happened, she was angrier than I was.

I’m not sure how long we waited this time for a tech to bring out the phone because my anger was escalating as we sat there dumbfounded at how we were being treated. “We’re going to have to give you a new phone because there was water damage to yours. We’re not allowed to put a new battery in a phone with water damage.” We just stared at each other. The closest this phone has been to water is when my wife downloaded a recipe for vegetable soup. “We can give you the new phone for the same $29 as replacing the battery on the old phone.” Was this a glimmer of hope at last? Nope! It didn’t take long for him to change his mind. “No, wait… since it’s out of warranty, the charge will be $299 plus tax.” Dumbfounded, I let him put my credit card in his machine and run a tape for $312.99! Note to Apple conspiracy theorists: Are you thinking this is how they are making up the cost of offering replacement batteries for $29?

I can’t recall my exact words at this point, but I do know I expressed extreme displeasure and used an analogy synonymous with bovine feces to describe the situation. “Do you want to talk to a manager?” I hesitated. My wife who is now steaming said, “Yes!” and I added, “…as long as it isn’t HER!” pointing to my new Apple archnemesis. As I watched him remove the SIM card from the old phone and put it in the “new” phone, something stirred in the recesses of my brain. I recently upgraded to an iPhone X and there is an identical iPhone 6 in my desk drawer at home with a recently replaced battery. The man who walked up and introduced himself as a manager was polite and obviously well versed in handling customers who have endured three tortuous hours and totally lost it. After apologizing to us and trying to explain what was happening, we mutually agreed that we were better off reversing the charge to the credit card and just going home with the old phone. Done!

After the cold ride home with the events of the evening still churning inside of us, I told my wife I knew exactly what to do next. I plugged in my old iPhone to get the battery up to speed, swapped the SIM from my wife’s phone, upgraded to the latest iOS, and restored it from the cloud. Ta daa! She can now look up her movie references on IMDB while watching Netflix again. Total cost to us: Dinner at Brio Tuscan Grill - $59.24, and Apple Store - $0.00.

In Apple’s defense, the bogus claim that there had been some sort of insidious plot to screw over their iPhone customers drove them to offer the $29 battery replacement as a public relations peace offering. It was very clear that this corporate decision was an edict passed down to all these innocent Redshirts who are now on a strange planet being attacked on all sides without the tools or pipeline to support that decision. The store was more crowded than I’ve ever seen it. Most of the reps seem to handle the added stress in stride, but others were frazzled and snippy. After more than ten years of a love affair with Apple since my first iPhone 3G, I felt betrayed. I wasn’t expecting snippiness or condescension. This jilted Apple lover, who has defended and applauded his life technology partner on multiple occasions, may now be rethinking whether or not such loyalty is still deserved.