After 53 minutes and 48 seconds, Marcus at Apple suggested that I make an early appearance at their Germantown location and make an appointment with my therapist as soon as possible. I think you need to know why I needed therapy after an apple support call.
You see, the iPad stopped charging Saturday afternoon, and when you have a child with autism, an iPad with no battery can lead to major catastrophe.
I prayed for a fix at home. A trip to the Genius Bar meant travel, and there was no time in our weekly schedule for that.
I needed Apple Support.
I needed all the support I could get.
Knowing that I would need all hands on deck, I required the hubs to drop whatever nonsense he was “working on” outside and join me on Mission Fix-It at home.
I was calling in the big guns.
I even recruited our sixteen-year-old to watch her brother and sister so we could be fully present with our rep on the phone call.
Their only assignment was to remain quiet.
When I was connected with Marcus, an upbeat twenty-something young Apple support rep based out of Indiana, I had high hopes.
And for the first five minutes or so things went swimmingly if you consider me repeating his instructions three or four times to my husband as if he were a ninety-year-old man with a hearing impairment and oppositional defiant disorder easy.
I suppose you could say this experience granted me a unique glimpse into what my future may hold, but the iPad did not cooperate.
Marcus told me not to worry. He had a few more suggestions.
Around the ten-minute mark, things took a turn for the children.
We began hearing violent screams and thunderous booms accompanied by accusations of espionage and slander.
As you can imagine, this made it difficult for me to interpret Marcus’s technical instructions and when my nine year old dramatically crashed into our bedroom, I was forced to press pause on the iPad conversation and shift into Mom Mode.
With passionate authority and grand hand gesturing, Lylah Kate announced that her brother had broken her door and that she could no longer tolerate living in her current environment.
“My… door… won’t… lock!”
She was out of breath. Clearly, there had been a struggle.
“I can’t lock Nathan out and he won’t stop jumping on my bed rubbing his…WEINER ON MY PILLOWS!!!”
Immediately, I apologized to Marcus for any offensive language and told him that I’d only be a minute as I laid my phone down on the table with the hope that he would not hear our conversation.
“Lylah Kate, As you can see, I am on the phone.”
Wow, I thought. I sounded like someone who had their act together.
My husband nodded his approval from across the room. We had this covered.
“I hate to hear about your door. I understand that privacy is important to you and we will deal with it in the order that it is…”
She stormed out before I could finish, but I was in no position to address her rude behavior because Marcus was waiting patiently on the line.
As we returned to the reset, I made a mental note to look into etiquette classes and scribbled change bedsheets on a sticky note nearby.
You know how they tell you kids will fix their own problems if you let them?
It’s true because Lylah Kate managed to lock her door, which resulted in my naked five-year-old streaking into my bedroom giggling at the top of his lungs and going for my custom throw pillows with…you guessed it. His wiener.
With my teenage babysitter nowhere in sight, my now irate husband escorted my bare son back to the teenager and returned with a dining room chair to block the door to prevent future visits from the streaker.
We went through the motions of more diagnostic tests, and I gotta give Apple some credit here because Marcus was one cool cat. Throughout the call, he acted as if we were a totally normal family and for that, I am thankful because what happened next was not typical.
You see, that call was changing my husband.
After twenty minutes of misunderstood instructions, partially due to background noise, and incorrect passwords, he was slowly going from a Clooney to a Constanza.
Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him sitting in our Queen Anne chair pulled against the bedroom door. He was losing his mind and all sex appeal. Convinced he was entering the wrong password, I got up to take the tablet from his charge. I was holding my phone and a conversation with Marcus about the weather in Indianapolis when I saw it. A small liquid puddle that was growing in size and seeping underneath the door and chair.
Of course, the Curmudgeon saw it too and began wildly gesturing toward it with his fingers.
LOOK AT THAT. He mouthed.
About that time, the noise of the girls rumbling down the hall in hot pursuit of their brother and our puppy, Rowan was growing louder.
“HOLY CRAP- Lylah Kate WHY DON’T YOU WATCH YOUR DOG? GOSH-AH!!!!”
All of my teen’s words are ended with “AH” now when she is frustrated. Which is all of the time.
“YOU were supposed to be watching him, Savannah!!! I’m telling Mom!!!…You never do anything …Wait…What is that?”
Marcus, Nathan, and I listened as the girl’s screams faded into whispers as they discovered the small stream of urine in the hallway seeping into my bedroom.
“Well, who’s, is it? Rowan’s or Nathan’s?”
I’m not sure how they were going to ID the urine, and I do not want to know.
“Get a towel, Lylah Kate, NOW-AH”
“I’m not getting a towel if it’s not Rowan’s pee! You’re gonna be in BIG TROUBLE Savannah” Lylah Kate whispered.
“NO, I AM NOT-AH!” Savannah stammered, but I could hear the worry in her voice.
The finger pointing just got started as the last reset on the iPad concluded.
Marcus asked me for my zip code.
Then he expressed his sympathies when he saw my location.
This was an all too familiar dance. I would have to drive at least an hour to the closest Apple Store.
Situations such as this serve as a reminder that I live in a rural area-something that I have yet to reconcile in my brain.
So I took the opportunity to discuss the matter with Marcus. He had been so supportive throughout our call and I needed him now more than ever. Constanza had exited the room to yell at the children and I was on my own.
When he politely informed me that matters of the heart are not covered under our warranty, I answered the only way I knew how.
Do you know of an App for that?