A couple of weeks ago, I went into the Apple store on Regents Street. I felt like a lamb amongst brightly-coloured geeky evangelistic wolves. It was hard, but I tried not to make eye contact with any of the assistants (who are clearly LIVING THE DREAM – can you imagine anything greater for a Mac-geek than being able to proselytise and be paid for it?!!), and ploughed on.
And then I bought something – oh GOSH!! It’s one thing breaking into the Death Star, but to start giving money to the Sith was really quite far out …
I’m joking of course. Maybe.
My laptop is not a Mac, but of course I’m not allowed to be proud of that, cos you can’t. It’s like going abroad and telling people how glad you are to be English, and white, and middle-class; it’s not that you CAN’T, more that the world is just not like that. I have nothing against Macs themselves (although the ones in our department at uni were crap), and neither have I any particular axe to grind against the Mac-people themselves (I’m sure that their mothers think they are great).
What annoys me is the sense of superiority that oozes from the pores of a Mac-user, and especially the bile and vitriol which so unnecessarily seem to accompany it. There is a sense of ‘we have found the Messiah!’ that makes us poor outsiders feel small and unvalued. We are people too! If you really wish to see souls saved from Windows purgatory, I’m sure there are much better ways of preaching the Gospel than purely bashing the opposition. Or is diversity of preference really that threatening?
Anyway, so I emerged from my short dalliance with the dark side, dancing with the angel of light; I gave the very pleasant 13" sleeve to my sister, and went back to tapping away at my little black Dell.