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Washing machines worry me. But washing-up machines are a foreign language
Why...
Are washing machines designed by people better suited to creating crossword clues?
As I understand it, there are only two things to put into the slot for liquids: the actual detergent, then softener. So why are there three container bays in the drawer? Is it multiple choice? Pot luck? Or some kind of cryptic clue that the CIA would set you on an entrance exam to test whether you can select the right one?
...and another thing
Then we have the time it takes. My wife is American, and we are often in the US with its puny 120 volts as opposed to Europe’s super-macho 240 volts. And yet washing machine cycles in Europe are nearly twice as long? How does that happen?
And the options for types of wash make choosing a coffee at Starbucks look simple. Last time I looked, we had over a dozen different cycles. Apart from changes in temperature, has anyone actually analysed what the differences actually are? It’s domestic appliance hocus-pocus and, for a few dollars of extra electronic chips, the reason we pay a fortune for top-of-the-line gizmos!
Then we have the tumble dryer. Pretty simple: heat to dry clothes. Yet again, a smorgasbord of options for something that’s pretty basic. Anyway, if you live in the UK, the climate control czar, Ed Miliband, wants to ban this machine as it contributes to greenhouse gases!
...and another thing
The washing-up machine and I have history. We go way back. When single, I used to travel so much I spent 200 days a year away. I came home to find a note from my Colombian housekeeper. Her English was not great and my Colombian Spanish was limited to the game Perudo.
“Wash up machine broken.”
The next day I was hosting a big dinner in honour of my Godmother’s 80th An extraordinary woman. Norwegian, petite, delicate, stunningly beautiful, but decorated for having slit more Nazi throats than any other resistance fighter! But with 11 guests four courses and an ocean of wine I needed a machine afterwards.
I went to a white goods store, pointed at a high tech dishwasher machine, and asked for it.
“You want it today?”
I noodled.
“That’s an extra £50. You want it installed?”
What I wanted to say was no, I bought it as modern art and want it hung on the wall. However I nodded again.
“That’s an extra £50. Do you want us to take away the old one?”
Beginning to think this was Groundhog Day, I nodded. Another £50.
“Have you uninstalled your old machine? Because we are not allowed to.”
I rang the handyman I use, and he promised to be at the apartment when my new toy arrived.
Sure enough, later that day I got a message saying it was all installed and the old machine was gone. The dinner party was a huge success, and the new machine worked a treat, taking 12 people’s crockery and cutlery.
The next night I came back from a meeting in town, and the housekeeper had tidied up. The house looked great. She left me a note…
“Like new dish wash-up machine but why buy? Clothes wash up machine still broken.”
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