The only problem was all the tweeting, buzzing, beeping, second-level security type things in my life. Their combined effect was one that made my phone more difficult to set up.
A lot more difficult to set up. After several syncs, data wipes and rounds of swearing I capitulated. It was clear I needed to make a trip to the Apple store to visit with one of their uber-cool techies, made even more uber-cool because they live in the heart of hipsterville.
Once there I experienced the rare thrill of technovindication. It took my tech guru thirty minutes and lots of research to figure out the interface bugs. In order to get everything working the way
There was the same imbalance of power. One person was poking, prodding, making quick notes and doing a little research. The other person was doing the cyber-equivelant of putting their legs up in stirrups and attempting to make polite conversation about the weather.
In both tech support and gynecological exams there is an implied social contract where the examiner makes a point not to comment on personal details of the examinee's life, such as who gets the gummi vitamins or an unusually shaped birthmark.
The good news is that after the exam, I mean visit to the Apple store, was over there was the familiar sense of relief.
Everything was in working order.
Together, my tech guru and I had conquered a necessary evil. It will now be another year (or two) before I have to face it again. More importantly, I'm sure everyone will be relieved to hear my Starbucks app is loading lickety split.