Anecdote of an Apple (Store)

There's an old man. His messy gray hair tells me that he's beyond caring what he looks like at 10:45am on a Sunday morning, standing here, outside the Apple Store in the mall. If not his hair, then its his once blue corduroys: worn and faded. His wallet nested in the outlay of his back left pocket.

He is holding a brown spiral notebook. The type you would picture a young cocky literature professor to have. Its a bit beat-up, and reeks of character. I imagine he's been here for a while, even though the store still has 15 minutes until it opens. He always arrives early. I can't help but wonder what its like to be able to arrive early to everything if you want to...or late to everything. At his age, nothing else better to do than arrive early I guess. What would he have to do at the Apple Store?

Look out: Mall Walkers. There are several types, as I'll come to find out. This first group is of the radical sort. They carry themselves very proud and pompous. They walk with determination...and fast. Groups of two, they are usually women. They talk. They manage to have these conversations while walking around the mall. As they pass, I can only get a few grasps of their conversation, which is characterized with short, quick sentences to accommodate their breathing needs.

There is a gate, like a garage door, covering the entrance to the Apple Store. Right next to the gate are mother and daughter. North Shore Nancy and Mckenzie (that's what I'll call them, sounds posh and they're probably from Mequon). Mckenzie is wearing a red-hooded Wisconsin sweatshirt, red shorts (28 degrees outside), red sandals (again with the temperature) and a toe-ring on what would be the equivalent of the pointer finger of her right foot. She just woke up, and can't wait to get her Nano. North Shore Nancy didn't want to be here, but I'm sure buying Mckenzie a Nano was some reward. Or perhaps she was sick of hearing Mckenzie say how everyone else has one, "I just gotta have it."

What pisses me off is that Mckenzie is going to pollute her iPOD with shitty teenie-bop music.

More mall walkers: old men. Unlike the old man waiting to get into the store, these men clearly have little say over their Sunday morning post-church activities. But they sure do have those towel-like sweat outfits on. You know the furry outfits that grandpa's wear. Horizontal stripe across the chest.

There's a black man waiting to get in. Hands free, he's talking on his cell phone which is conveniently attached to his ear. Blue-tooth I assume. Next time you talk on the phone, think about what you would do with your hands if both were free. Are we really at the point in our existence where we must have two hands free while on the phone? He's doing business of sorts with the person on the other end.

The final mall walker of my stay: the couple with child. Easiest way to describe them is to picture the guy wearing a t-shirt saying: I'm here with her.

More people start to accumulate outside the store. Then, an iMAC. An iMAC strapped inside of a suitcase on wheels was being dragged in by a hurried woman. She marched right up to the gate and looked through the gate into the store. It almost appeared as though she was surprised that the gate didn't open when she approached it. Like she's at the local Pick N Save grocery store, where the doors open for you. And its as though none of us would have already tried. Clearly, she didn't want to be seen lugging in her Tangerine iMAC (circa 1999) in luggage.

The gate eventually lifted, and the staff was staged like actors in a play. Luggage lady made her way to the Genius Bar where she was determined to be the first to have her computer looked at. She literally had to bend down, refusing to let the gate rise all the way to enter standing up.

Mckenzie headed for the Nanos.

I walked into the store next to the old man. I realized now that he had a Marquette sweatshirt on. I remember my grandpa used to wear a sweatshirt similar to that.

As the iMAC-luggage lady started proclaiming her problems, the man at the Genius bar called my name. I had gone online and scheduled the first appointment of the day. She would have to wait. With her luggage. Filled with an iMAC.



Listening: The Album Leaf
Reading: Botany of Desire-A Plant's-Eye View of the World by Michael Pollan

The Honor of Best Traffic Reporter

Last week in the "Inside TV & Radio" column of JSonline.com, readers (assuming i'm not the only one who reads this loosely termed 'column') learned of Milwaukee's Achievement in Radio Awards that were recently handed out. Despite the fact that I feel Milwaukee has probably the worst radio programming in the nation, I guess there's still honor in being named the best of the worst.

Catching my eye was Debbie Lazaga (the first "a" has an acento above it) being named "Best Traffic Reporter." An award-winning traffic reporter. Is this the pinnacle of her career? How does one become an award-winning traffic reporter? I wonder if it was a tight race...who was runner-up best traffic reporter?

I'll attempt to answer none of the aforementioned questions. Partially because i emailed the know-it-all author of the column, and upon my asking him those very questions he replied: "I have no access to the judges, so i couldn't really ask them." Boo. There's goes that idea for a blog...

I equate a traffic reporter (TV or radio) to an elementary school gym teacher. I admire both jobs. I would love to fly around in a helicopter and state the obvious over the airwaves. Just like I would love to wear sweat pants to work and have the toughest decision of my day be to play Stuck in the Mud with the kids, or play with that big parachute. Moreover, when the weather is bad outside, the gym teacher plans indoor activities...and the traffic reporter is grounded and has to give reports based on the DOT website and webcams!

(i loved parachute day!)

When other people's commute to work is your job...what do you do between commutes? (the answer to this questions negates my point, so i won't tell you). I bet at the annual national conference of the Traffic Reporters of American Media (T.R.A.M.--ironically a form of public transportation) , everyone looks at cities like Milwaukee and laughs: our rush-hour is inappropriately named. Rush-45minutes just doesn't flow though.

I also imagine attendees at the conference go to educational sessions titled:
"You're Grounded: Traffic reporting from the office"
"No, You Can't Touch That: Effective communication with your pilot"
"Bumper to Bumper: Naming your traffic jam" --With the rise and fall of the sun, our jobs call us into action. People need to get to work, and they need our guidance on the conditions ahead. However, we live in a society addicted to creativity and change. In this session, we will address new ways of delivering the same message: traffic is bad. Please come prepared to share your nomenclature and to leave with a new voice to take back to your listeners.

OLD:
"Bumper to bumper"
"Traffic is at a standstill"
"I94 is a virtual parking lot"
"Expect delays coming into the city"

NEW:
"Someone get I94 Eastbound a laxative, things are really backing up over there!"
"The lines at the DMV are moving faster and I43 southbound"

At the evening social, T.R.A.M. attendees share stories of spilling coffee in the helicopter and the pilot getting pissed. Traffic reporters from New York, Atlanta and L.A. are stand-offish, and only let the big cities socialize with them. Smaller market reporters get drunk at the hotel bar.



Listening to: Belle & Sebastian

Reading: Guns, Germs, and Steel