Slumped at the Bar

...the genius bar, that is. Apple Store employees cannot bid you hello, or perhaps even tell you where the rest rooms are, without first stabbing your name and details into an iPad, that is interhyperlinked with, with, with — with who knows, Steve Jobs' cyrogenically-frozen zest for making money?

I need a small part for my phone. A basket or three of said small plastic parts are probably sitting on shelves behind the vertical metallic grey acres of faux-Titanium (the horizontal acres are always faux-pine, except if feet are routinely upon them — then they are faux-granite) wall — or 'façadage', no doubt. Slumping...