Why I hate the iPad

Center director Jeffrey Cole digs into the oppressive omnipresence of iPads at every retail transaction.

By Jeffrey Cole

I used to love the iPad.

Shortly after Steve Jobs announced the third of his great innovations in seven years (after the iPod and the iPhone), I rushed to the head of the line to place my order. My first iPad was $499, heavy, and somewhat clunky.

I loved it! It could do most of the things I had needed a laptop computer for. It was also the best thing imaginable to read a newspaper or a book, play games in bed or even in the bathtub.

Best of all, it was easy to use. There was no learning curve, and it was impossible to corrupt or damage unless you dropped it on the floor. I recommended it to friends who had a hard time learning operating systems and computers. It was also the ideal device for people who introduced viruses onto their computers, or corrupted registries, or encountered the blue screen of death.

The first iPads were inexpensive. Today, while there are versions with OLED and massive memory that cost more than a PC or MacBook, there are also well equipped versions that do almost anything starting at $349. Pretty amazing, but we are used to price drops with electronics.

The iPad was truly revolutionary. It was a computer for people who didn’t have to know they were using a computer. You just opened the case (no booting) and started exploring. In the unlikely event there was something too complex to understand, you could visit the Genius Bar.

These days I hate the iPad!

It has become an oppressive part of my life, annoying and angering me whenever I see one in public. My own iPad, which I continue to love, does not elicit those same feelings. I still see it as my traveling buddy, easier and more fun than turning on a computer (with crossed fingers hoping it boots correctly).

It’s the iPads I see every time I buy something that I hate.

The happy growth of digital payments with smartphones

Just six years ago, it was easy to feel that American credit cards and purchasing technology were still in the 19th century. Few cards had PIN numbers. With those that did, we didn’t know what to do with the four digits. For Americans, buying a train ticket in Europe was almost impossible because ticket machines required a PIN with a credit card. I had to search for a live ticket agent (increasingly hard to find) and hope the office was still open.

Other parts of the world were ahead of us in not needing to insert a credit card into a reader. What could be simpler than wirelessly holding it near a sensor?

Happily, we caught up. The credit card has moved from the wallet to the thing we are guaranteed to never leave at home or be without: the smartphone.

Several years ago, we asked Americans if you forgot your phone at home (unlikely), how far away would you have to be before you would not go back for it. The average answer was 40 minutes. The truth is that we reach for it so many times that we rarely lose it because we would notice the absence within minutes. We do, however, leave credit cards in restaurants and not notice they’re missing for days.

Wallets are disappearing. They used to be the essential repository for identification, photographs, cash, and credit cards. Photos moved to the phone long ago once cameras were built in and included the photo album. Credit cards and cash are disappearing, accelerated by the pandemic. Eleven states now have digital driver’s licenses. I installed one as soon as they were available in California.

George Costanza’s overstuffed wallet from Seinfeld is a thing of the past. Now that almost no one needs a wallet or wears a tie, we will have to be more creative finding gifts for dads and grads.

Purchasing, whether for a coffee or meal, getting on a subway or bus, or buying a new gift is fun. More to the point, it is simple and seamless. You hold your phone near a terminal; it beeps; you walk away. Amazon is in the middle of rolling out buying at Whole Foods with a wave of the palm.

What does this have to do with the iPad?

The iPad has ruined fun, seamless purchasing. Now anytime you buy something it involves stages of anxiety, guilt, and resentment.

Of course, none of this is Apple’s fault, and the company has prospered with all the additional iPads sold to restaurants, retail stores, and almost anywhere else a transaction takes place.

The iPad has become an oppressive part of my life, annoying and angering me whenever I see one in public. My own iPad, which I continue to love, does not elicit those same feelings. I still see it as my traveling buddy, easier and more fun than turning on a computer (with crossed fingers hoping it boots correctly).  It’s the iPads I see every time I buy something that I hate.

The fault rests with America’s location as the tipping capital of the world, which got worse during COVID. None of us wanted to touch cash in the early days of the pandemic for fear of the virus. Merchants didn’t want direct contact with customers. We moved to cashlessness and credit cards (whether physical or on phones), fueling the transition to iPads.

During COVID, we wanted to show appreciation for the workers who showed up at risk of getting sick. We tipped more than we ever did. Fifteen percent for restaurants moved to a minimum of 20%.

We started tipping in places and for services we never had before.

Now that COVID is mostly over we cannot seem to reverse the trend.

Instead of beaming and leaving, the cashier turns an iPad in our direction. As the server or merchant stands watching us, we engage in a multi-step process. We are presented with a range of tipping choices that often start at 20% and rise as high as 40%!

Skipping the tip (because all the cashier did was hand over a bagel) involves a hunt for the “no tip” option, and then feeling guilty. Even airport self-service convenience stores have iPads asking for tips, but it isn’t clear who we are tipping and why.

What used to be the simplest process imaginable now takes three to six steps, provokes anxiety (the cashier is watching), guilt (if we don’t tip or tip too little) and it all takes time.

To avoid all this, I am paying more often in cash even though I prefer not to. I carry single bills when I pay via iPad so I can (when appropriate) put a dollar or two into a tip jar.

I have become comfortable not tipping when the cashier expends no real effort.

Technology should simplify our lives, not cause anxiety every time we use it. We should stay on the path of making mundane tasks easier and reducing anxiety and friction. I hope to go back to loving the iPad when I am out of my house.
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Jeffrey Cole is the founder and director of The Center for the Digital Future at USC Annenberg.

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October 2, 2024