I had to take my Dad’s Mac in for repairs at the Apple Store. To do this, you have to take the computer to a section of the shop called the Genius Bar which is purportedly staffed by friendly Apple “geniuses” who know everything about computers. This is one of those situations where you are embarrassed for another person, in this case, the 20 something dork making 9.50$ an hour who has to refer to himself as a genius.
I’d love to go in there and yell, “So you’re some kind of genius? You want to tell me why my wife left me? 22 years of marriage down the shitter! Explain that Einstein!”
“The Genius Bar” – I imagine a Dive in Manhatten full of guys sitting around mumbling stuff like “I’m the best novelist on Earth and I can’t get anybody to read my stuff! Shit! Another beer, please.” “I’m the best bass player in Rock and those assholes kicked me out of their fucking band! Crap! More Jack Daniels, please!” “I’m the funniest guy in the history of Stand Up but I can’t get stage time at The Improv or The Comic Strip! Fuck! More Quervo, please!”
Bars in New York are full of assholes like that.