Columns

CONSIDER JOE DESIGNER, APPLE HQ, California, early September. He's feeling good. His work on the iPod nano is about to be unveiled to the world. He's just approved shipping on another batch of iconic minimalist posters. Fairly soon, teenagers throughout the land will beg their parents to aid their quest for total aural destruction via the purchase of one of the teeny-tiny music machines, now available in black for the difficult-to-capture Goth market. Joe iChats his life partner, Eleanor.

'Hey honey :)' he greets, demonstrating his deep love for her through the art of emoticon, 'We're finally done over here! I'm just gonna grab a Frappuccino and head home, I can't wait to see you and the kids.'

'OKi' ll fix dinnr,' stutters Eleanor, because she is rubbish at typing.

Joe smiles, signs off and straps on his cycle helmet, looking forward to relaxing with a four-dollar cup of mostly-ice. Little does he know his cosy world of miniature grooves is about to come crashing down.

Because the iPod nano scratches. Allegedly.

Following early reports of chronic scratching on the nano's screen, Apple admitted there was a problem with a tiny percentage of machines that were shipped in the first weeks of retail. Apple offered to replace the nanos affected and advised anyone concerned about scratching to purchase one of the many fetching cases available on the market.

US customer Jason Tomczak, however, was less than convinced, and has now begun legal proceedings against Apple for what he considers

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to be its failure to deal with a design fault in the nano itself. Such is Mr Tomczak's empathy for his fellow cracked-screen sufferers that he has filed for Erin Brockovich-style class action status, claiming that the nano 'scratches excessively during normal usage.' As long as he has one ass instead of two, Jason Tomczak should be able to sit on his iPod nano, dammit.

The problem here appears to be in the current definition of 'normal usage' for a piece of state-of-the-art technology. While our mums are still gingerly polishing the Teletext remote, we are resting coffee mugs on our G4s, leaving our PDAs in pub toilets and treading on the little metal bit on our iBook charger so we have to ask our husbands if they can squeeze it into vaguely the right shape to fit into the port again because we have a report to write up for tomorrow.

When did we start considering gadgets to be indestructible? Perhaps it was the discovery of the 'lock keys' function on mobile phones. Suddenly we could chuck them in our pockets without worrying about inadvertently calling 999 and having a 50 minute one-way conversation. Or maybe it was the recent trend for manufacturing things in brushed aluminium rather than cheap-looking black plastic, giving everything in Dixons an air of superhuman strength. Behold! My digital set-top box can withstand the weight of ten men! And the Christmas edition of Radio Times!

Until now, we careless technophiles have been content to maintain a stiff upper lip in the face of electronics destroyed in bath-time fumbles or Beaujolais-related over-exuberance. But if Mr Tomczak and friends are successful, it may set a worrying new precedent for designers and manufacturers everywhere. Should companies be held responsible for their customers' ham-fistedness?

Should Tesco warn us that keeping a banana in our briefcases will lead to an unpleasant soggy texture and the diminished sexual appeal of the consumer? Should we dictate a threatening letter to Argos as we drive our children to casualty following a daring leap from the climbing frame with their Harry Potter broomsticks?