Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Reposting an Oldie: Genius at The Bar

Yesterday I was at the apple store again waiting for all the information on my computer to be deleted. I think I need to say that again for emphasis: waiting for all the information on my computer to be deleted. We had saved it to a hard drive first but it still felt scary. The genius helping me was an 18 year old beanie-wearing-Asian-skateboarder named Yo. He had saved everything from my computer onto this rectangular piece of plastic not much bigger than a credit card, which I was trying to fit back into the packaging, while he told me he wanted to grow his facial hair long enough that the hair from his chin would connect to his sideburns. I stared at him and then at the places on his face where he wanted hair to grow.
It's not going to happen, I said.
Come on, I've been working on it for 2 weeks.
No way, I squinted at his face and then shook my head. But you do have some crazy teeth. He did. He had a serious set of fangs, not on the front area where they usually are, but back in the middle of the upper row. How the hell did that happen?
He laughed and then smiled wide so I could get a full view.
Damn, I said. That proves you're a genius. 
He turned his head this way and that, proud of himself.
All geniuses have some sort of malformation, I told him, and very often it's in their teeth.
He thought about this for a few minutes; he wanted to accept the praise but he also wanted to dispute it.
I just made that up, I said, finally.
Aww, dude, that sucks, I was so ready to buy into that one.
You're already a genius, what do you care.
Yeah, he sighed.
We turned our attention to the computer screen and stared at it. I felt like I was watching someone have an organ removed. It felt oddly scary and mysterious and sad.
Why do you want your side burns to grow enough to connect to your chin hair?
Because it'll look awesome. But you're right, I know it'll never happen.
Don't say that, I said.
Why not?
Because geniuses aren't pessimistic, only normal people are.

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