This is my favorite picture of Steve that I've seen so far. I love the devilish grin and the twinkle in his eye. I feel like you can look at the person that exists in this photo and sort-of see what he's going to become. He looks so 'normal', but yet, not normal.
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The first Apple product I ever owned was an iPod. My mom bought it for me as an Easter gift in 2005. I remember opening that little box and being awestruck simply by the packaging. Looking back, that box would seem rather large now, by Apple's standards. But I kept the box for many years, just to look at it.
From then on, I was sold. I wanted a Mac, and I'd do whatever it took to get my hands on one. My Dell computer became bogged down with virus after virus. I lost my photos. My music. And still, I bided my time.
In August 2007, my parents agreed to buy me a MacBook.
It was so cool.
I had no idea what I was doing. I think I spent the first three days just playing with Photo Booth. The best part of having it, early on, was just carrying it around and showing it off. I felt like Carrie from Sex and The City, toting it around. I even pretended I was a journalist, scribbling down things in TextEdit.
Then, in November of 2007, I got a job working for Apple.
I couldn't believe my luck. Here was this amazing company, and I was going to get a chance to work for them! I remember pulling in to the parking lot with the Apple logo-ed signs at Riata Vista and getting my first badge. I was terrified. But I was excited.
The month-long training went by quickly, but I finally learned how to use my own machine. I would never have considered myself a "computer person" (in fact, I specifically remember being teased by a few friends in training class for complaining that my Dell desktop said there was a problem with the battery ("Come on guys, desktops don't have batteries!")) but for once I felt comfortable navigating my way around an OS.
The job itself was more difficult than I had anticipated. I moved from department to department (promotions, of course ;-) ) and learned tons of new information--mostly through working it out while helping customers. Some days were great. Some days, I could feel a sense of accomplishment. Some days weren't. And that's when the cynicism started to creep in.
My affinity for all things Apple slowly turned into a difficult dichotomy -- I still loved Apple, but I hated it. I hated it for my schedule. I hated it for the customers that yelled at me. But mostly, I hated it for my unmet expectations.
I moved to an Apple Retail store in the spring of 2010.
Things were better for a while; different--but still; the same. It's amazing to me how, over time, something that was once so breathtaking can become monotony. You open that box that you once would have considered 'revolutionary', but now you're just tearing off the paper and crushing the box to fit it into a trash can. Your once delicately handled cables are bent, dirty, and have exposed wires.
That machine you once thought 'just worked' has another broken hard drive. Another broken hard drive. Another broken hard drive. Another broken hard drive. Poring over the most innovatively designed computers becomes a toil. A moment you would have savored is sped through.
Imagine: you get only a moment to hold that new device for the first time. The next time you touch one, it's being thrust at you by a person who angrily says it isn't working the way they think it should.
You come home, and the last thing you want to do is look at an Apple product.
In May 2011, I left Apple, and now continue to support Mac products at another company. I have continued to look at the products the same way I have for the past 4 years. They're just...computers. Phones. Music players.
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Today, I read a long article about Steve's health, followed by a timeline of his life. Then I found a page with pictures Steve had taken of himself in Photo Booth.
And then, just for a moment, I stopped while I was cleaning the screen of the computer I'd just repaired. And I looked at it. I really looked at it, the way I would have a long time ago. I flipped it over, turned it around, and ran my hands over the smooth aluminum.
It's so cool.
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Thanks, Steve. Thanks for being the kind of guy I feel comfortable enough to refer to on a first name basis in my blog post. Thanks for doing what you did. Thanks for being the crazy guy. And most of all, thanks for being who you were.
