The drum is calling my name

A company invents the perfect product to do a job and the market loves it. To keep the factory open, they need to keep selling it and to make profits they need to sell more and more each year. They keep trying to invent new improved versions but that just gets harder and harder. Then some bright spark comes up with the idea of 'built-in obsolescence' in other words they use thinner metal or weaker joints - so that their product is designed to break and then the customer will have to buy a new one.

That is the process by which our society functions and what we call capitalism.

…

"Let's give it one more try. Maybe last time it was a un-balanced load". Said Soph as she put the dog blankets into the washing machine. The quick wash is thirty-eight minutes. A problem has been developing over the past few weeks. It seems to happen at twenty-nine minutes when the spin starts. We made a cup of tea and went to test our general knowledge against the contestants on a tv quiz programme.

We didn't need to check the clock because exactly on twenty-nine minutes the washing machine went into spin mode and started making sounds like a taiko drum recital. It then developed into a full Keith Moon solo before cascading into what sounded like a steam train hitting a bulldozer and both tumbling down a cliff face.

"We need a new washing machine". shouted Soph competing against the din. I know full well a household can’t last very long without a functioning washing machine, especially ours.

My first action was to check my measly bank balance. A new machine would be at least £400. I didn’t quite have that much. Soph started looking at new machines. “Why do they keep bringing out new models, what's wrong with the old ones?”

I moved on to searching for our washing machine’s manual online. I had heard rumours that the manufacturers were no longer publishing manuals but worse, they were actually removing them from websites. It’s all part of the strategy to keep sales of new machines rolling in. I searched for the symptoms of broken washing machines. ‘Does your machine sound like its swallowed a plumbers tool kit? Have the neighbours come around to see if you had started a school for novice steel drummers? Then you need new bearings.

Well that's the solution. How much are bearings? £38. Sold. I placed an order for new bearings and went back to the TV quiz show, whilst Soph was still drooling over a new machine with a special programme just for dog blankets.

Two days later the delivery was due. I heaved the washing machine out of its cozy corner in the utility room and attacked if with my screwdriver. After ten minutes I thought better of this strategy and resorted to following a man in a shed who had made an online instructional video.

Bit by bit the parts piled up and the washer became more skeletal. Eventually the crucial drum could be removed. The halves separated. And the bearings exposed. The video said ‘just gently knock them out’. But it was easier said than done. Mine were not going to budge. In the end I went down the road to borrow a sledge hammer and a cold chisel. That did the trick. Before I put the new bearings in I thought I'd clean the drum, the back of which was caked in scum. As I cleaned it, the metal support just fell apart, a 50mm price of aluminium had snapped in half, only the yuk had been holding it together. This was a definite concern. Maybe the bearings were fine all along. Anyhow I now had to go back online and order a new support. That left me shouting the answers out at the TV quiz again.

Another few days and the laundry basket was getting full.

The new part arrived, delivered by Dirk who photographed me on the doorstep holding the parcel. He says it’s proof of delivery but I’m sure he’s got a secret basement covered in printouts of his doorstep victims. I mean customers.

Fitting the new support to the drum was easy but I looked round at the pile of dismantled washer parts. Each piece looked at me like a lost child yearning to be returned to its rightful home inside a white tin box. I took a big gulp and started to work my way backwards through the video.

To my surprise it only took couple of hours, I was expecting at least three weeks work.

I cleaned and polished each bit as I went so in the end our washing machine looked and felt like new.

“Hey soph,” I called “look what I've done. I've only gone and fixed it.”

“Are you sure, have you actually tried it?”

“Not yet, just about to.”

“And is that important?” she said, as she pointed to something in the corner, on the floor. There lay a small screw, no bigger than a peanut.

“Oh poo.”

That should be inside the washing machine. But where? And how important was it?

I couldn't take it apart again.

“Ok let's do a test run. I've got some more dog blankets need doing.”

The door shut, the button pressed and it burst into life. A self congatulative smile appeared. Twenty nine minutes later... no noise. As sweet as a nut. As quiet as a mouse. The machine hit 1200 revolutions a minute and I could still hear three little birds on my window sill.

As for the left over screw.... it was obviously not important and slipped into obscurity.

As for capitalism and built-in obsolescence... ya-boo-sucks!