Throw away and start over? Not so fast.

 

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My decades-old washer died, and I needed to buy a new one. I began searching for a no-frills model like the old one; wash, rinse, spin, delicate, etc.; no screens; no high-tech frivolities. It was a challenge. Few washers, if any, in the home improvement store aligned with my simplistic views, but I did the best I could to stay true to my washer wishes.

    A week or so later, two guys in an oversized truck arrived at our house. They blew through the back door and into the laundry room like a cyclone. By someone's definition, they deposited and swiftly installed a new washing machine, then dashed out the door faster than Looney Tunes' Road Runner. Barry noticed the washer was not level and called them back to fix it, which they did, lickety-split. Then they skedaddled out the door again.

     We noticed the machine was still not level, and Barry chased after them, but they had already hightailed it down the driveway and driven out of sight. He spent the next little while maneuvering the washer over the drain plug to level it.

    Once the washer had settled down, Barry and I went outside for our jaunt to the mailbox, and in our yard, we found all sorts of trash; everything from pieces of plastic wrap to a business card to an empty soda bottle to a cigar wrapper. We were especially amused by the big chunk of white Styrofoam that had landed in the bed of our pickup truck.

    I later washed a load of clothes and sighed at the sounds of a dying cow when it washed and a freight train when it spun.

    As the days and loads of laundry wore on, more concerns and dissatisfactions grew. When I had to raise the lid to redistribute a normal load of clothes, because it was off balance and knocking from here to yonder, I wondered if I would have to babysit the washer every time it ran through a cycle. Barry and I discussed the situation and our expectations.

    Without much hesitation, we jumped in the car and headed back to the store, where we made an unbelievably easy transaction and were not even asked why we wanted to return the washer, as if washers were returned every day, all day long. We then purchased the same brand that had served us for decades and again, the simplest one without bells and whistles and the least amount of electronics. I smiled all the way home.

    Installation of the second washer went a bit more smoothly, except for me eventually realizing that the hot and cold hoses had been reversed, which, to make a point, I had them come out and fix. The new washer and its newfangled features are beyond the requirements for clean clothes. The lid locks, water levels are automatically set, and it mades weird noises; clicking and grunting sounds like it might be in severe pain.

    I would give anything to have my old washer back. If I could go back and redo, I would beg, borrow, and steal, if I had to, to have my washer rebuilt, overhauled, or whatever it took to resuscitate it. But now, I am settling. I am accepting the new washer, with the consolation that it is likely the last one I will ever buy.

    Next time, I will not be so quick to throw away and start over. Salvaging what I already have might be the better option.

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