is going into an Apple Store always the worst experience of your life?

The door was guarded by an overweight guy with poor facial hair, some kind of earpiece in his ear. His shirt was orange, perhaps to signal that he was a leader of some kind, or perhaps he was still an initiate, I'm not sure. Spread out behind him was a sea of light blue shirts, dotting the corner of every table, every display.

My first reaction was perhaps the sales associates had taken to kidnapping the customers, forcing them to work in Apple's machine in order to pay off those ridiculous prices, because the employees outnumbered the customers something like 4:1, maybe even 5:1. It was obscene -- an entire phalanx set up to keep me from browsing their product in peace.

I don't think I had even completely stepped into the shop before the orange shirted man engaged me, "Can we help you find something?"

I wanted to give him the "nah," then keep it moving, but then I saw the second line of attack, then the third and fourth draped in that bright blue, more orange shirts roaming free amid the back lines, ready to sweep me up lest I get free. "Ummm ... I was looking for headphones."

"You can find those on the back on the 4th shelf there. Do you need a to help you find what you're looking for?"

"No thanks."

I think I got asked maybe two or three more times on my way to the back wall if I needed help finding anything, all those hungry eyes engaging mine when I made the mistake of looking beyond my shoes, all those Steve Jobites obviously upset that I was walking alone through their store, free of accompaniment. I just wanted to see if they had a specific set of headphones, I didn't need a chaperone! The Apple Store clearly disagreed.

I found the headphone section, carefully angled my back to the rest of the room so maybe I wouldn't be approached again, and started browsing. I looked through the wall. They didn't have what I wanted. Eventually, while looking through the other options, I apparently broke some kind of edict by independently browsing for so long, and I was approached again by another anonymous blue-shirt wearing sales hawk.

"Need help finding anything?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for a specific model of headphone from this brand here. Do you have anything else in the back?"

"Did you look in the online store before you came in?"

What kind of question is that? Was this an attempt at guile? He was going to confuse, then offer to show me the overpriced laptops. I could see his devious salesperson mind working away.

"Well, I mean I looked online and you guys were listed as a dealer, so I thought I'd check if you had what I wanted."

"If we don't have them in stock, you can place an order through the online Apple Store. Would you like me to place an order for you? I'll take care of it all for you. There is free shipping on all orders and it will arrive in 2-3 days."

I didn't know simply walking into a store and getting a product was such a difficult proposition these days. If I wanted to get the headphones online, I would have done that. Apple is hardly the only online retailer in the world. For a store selling a tech-savvy image, you'd think they'd know better than to insult their potential customers like this. I also knew this blue-shirted guy didn't know jack-shit about high quality headphones, no point asking for another recommendation. I knew he didn't give a shit about whether or not I got the product I was looking for, he just wanted me to make a donation to the Church of Mac. I knew I was ready to burst at all the goddamn salesmanship being foisted upon me, and that even if I eluded this pushy online-reserving neophyte, I had nothing but a sea of fellow blue-shirted clones still surrounding me on all sides, being clearly directed by the orange ones to collectively maneuver to eliminate my autonomy. I knew I was defeated.

"Look, I'll just go somewhere else," I said rather rudely, in an attempt to signal my determination to not discuss it further.

"Okay. Let me know if I can help with anything else." He seemed confused now. He didn't know why I wouldn't want to take his pitch.

I locked my eyes straight at the ground and bolted for the door, still being asked if I needed help to find something by the armada of blue-shirters during my interminable 60' flight back to freedom. I ignored them and pressed forward, my resolve to leave this place and never return solidifying with each determined step. The orange-shirted doorman made sure to add as I left, calling out to me beyond the limits of his corporate castle now because I had stalked so quickly past, "Thanks for coming in today! Hope to see you again!"