I headed to the Apple Store with my MacBook Pro to solve a nagging technical glitch—the kind that makes you feel like an expert just for booking the appointment. I stood before the "Genius," ready to demonstrate the issue, only to hit a literal wall.
The trackpad was dead. The cursor wouldn't budge. I couldn't even log in.
The Genius was stymied. We tried every reset, every key command, and every diagnostic trick in the book. For twenty minutes, we stared at a frozen screen in a state of high-tech consternation. The mystery was absolute.
Then, my hand brushed against my trousers.
I felt a familiar, rounded bulge in my pocket. A memory flickered: “Oh yes, I brought my Bluetooth Apple Mouse.”
I reached in and pulled it out. Not only was it in my pocket, it was switched on. My thigh had been "clicking" and "scrolling" the entire time, effectively hijacking the computer and locking out the trackpad.
I looked at the mouse. I looked at the Genius. The "problem" was solved, but my dignity was officially beyond repair.