Thursday, June 23, 2011

Ahime'/ Awww shucks
Summer is supposed to be relaxing, right? Well not so much yesterday--

For starters, yesterday we had to go to the dentist, a schlep on the train to Prato, ten or so uncomfortable minutes in the chair covered in crazy explosions of powdered Italian tooth scrub, but wow! afterwards your teeth are cleaner than 45 minutes of gentle scraping by a gentle trained American dental hygienist. So we're on our way out the door and as we pass the bike rack, there is T's lock on the ground, but no sign of her bike. Then as we walk through Piazza Grande, leaning against the Palazzo Ducale is her sweet little bicycle completely destroyed, as are several others in the vicinity. On our way back from the dentist's on the train, we get a call from the Apple store saying that our brand new MacBook which developed a hairline crack across the trackpad would not be covered by the warranty, so that will be €60 to replace, or in that inimitable brand of Italian customer service you have to come get it immediately. As I (F) have demonstrated before, this kind of response sends me into ear-steaming rage, so I channeled my inner Ghandi and called Apple in California where I very patiently explained that it was impossible to reach the Italian Apple support and the helpful, cheery Cali peeps couldn't believe it. So after an hour where four different helpful people searched and searched, astounded that there is only one number in Italy--that normal people can't call. End result-- nothing, actually.


So T and I march off, first to the bike store where they tell us that it may be a total loss and then to the Mac repair shop where the cranky technician tells us, "Well they said no. So that's that." T does a great job as my interpreter, patiently outlining that we have been talking to California--you know, where they were invented (her touch). Eventually, she talks us into getting to talk to the other guy, the nice one, who calls the Italian Apple support with his special magical phone. When he finally reaches a human, there clearly have been transatlantic communications of the highest order, and they are instantly on high alert and want to authorize the repair, but there is only one person in all of Europe who can authorize it and he's in Ireland and there is a two to three hour wait to talk to him. So T and I wander off to play pallavolo and then my phone rings and it is Flora from Apple Italia, apologizing profusely, who gives me her personal phone number and email in case there ever is any other problem.  She lets me know that the computer is being repaired as we speak. So score one small victory for international customer service, and as T noted, name dropping.



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