I admit it - I'm a bit of a klutz. So it was probably doubly stupid of me to be handling my beloved iPod a couple of weekends ago right after I'd handled something greasy in the kitchen.
In a word: Splat.
The unit is still fully functional, but the display screen is cracked. As with most electronic devices, you kind of need to see what's on the screen if you want to be able to use it properly.
Within 30 seconds of the fateful accident, I'd gone all the way through all seven stages of mourning, and settled on my personal favourite: anger.
In this case, the anger was directed not at Apple itself (which would have been logical enough, in my humble view), but at all makers of electronics who practice one of my least favourite commercial tricks of all time: planned obsolescence.
This was no cheap investment. It was a birthday gift, not even a year ago, from my wife and two young daughters. The retail on these puppies was about $500 Cdn at the time. But no matter - my wife, knowing my affection for all things shiny and new (and especially those that play music) found the money and battled the byzantine shopping ritual involved in acquiring said unit.
(For the uninitiated: You find out what day your local retailer gets the new stock. You arrive an hour before opening, line up with all the other nerds - or the life partners of these nerds - and wait. When the store opens, you are escorted in, one person at a time, to make your purchase. And then - like it's Fort Friggin' Knox or something - you are escorted to the cash to complete the transaction and then leave immediately. I'm so not kidding about this.)
My first thought after The Accident™ - like any logical person - was, ok. So I'll get it fixed.
You know what's coming next:
"Hello, Apple Care. Can I help you?"
"Yes, we can fix it. Send you a beautiful shipping box, all expenses paid. We'll fix it and send it back to you."
"What's that? Oh, about the same as replacing it."
Argh.
I even called around the city to some of the more reputable repair shops (and a few that were, perhaps, less than reputable). Same answer everywhere: Only Apple fixes these bad boys.
I'm what's known in some circles as an early adopter. I like the aforementioned shiny new things. I bought my first CD player in 1984. It cost me $400 - and came without a remote. Because that? Was an extra $100.
Even before I owned a CD player, I had my first two shiny, new discs (Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture and Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, if you must know). Because I was just. that. sure. I'd have something to play them on, sooner rather than later.
I welcome as much as the next person - and given my nature, perhaps moreso - the inevitable decline in the cost of electronics. I remember when plasma tvs first came out and cost $30,000. I've learned better. I'll wait til they're $300.
My siblings and I recently bought a DVD player for our father (whom I blame for my fascination with shiny, new toys). Quite apart from the fact that it's now next to impossible to find a DVD player that doesn't also brew coffee, clean the blinds and mop the floor, I was stunned at how much the price had come down. This particular unit - which also plays CDs, photos and .mpeg files - cost us less than $100. The bench fee to repair any electronic device is at least $50. So boom. There you go. Welcome to the age of disposible electronics.
As an aside - this incident has put me in mind of one of my favourite scenes from The Simpsons. Homer is walking through a garbage dump, and passes a sign marked "This section reserved for DVD players."
So what will I do about my not late, but much lamented iPod? Probably replace it. And maybe try to sell the old one on ebay.
Because somewhere, out there, is someone who loves shiny new toys - and knows how to fix them.
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