How to Lose a Dedicated Customer-for-Life

That's saying something considering I bought MC Hammer-style harem pants in the 80s.

I thought they'd be comfortable.

I was wrong.

My family always had Maytags. I even remember our first one. It had dual wringing rollers set above the wash tub. My mother would roll it up to the kitchen sink. The machine filled from the faucet and drained into the sink. It was high-tech for its time.

My mother would push the clothes through the wringing rollers with a wooden kitchen spoon. She did so to avoid getting her fingers wrung along with the clothes.

Thirty-eight years ago, I bought my first Maytag.

Over the years, I was a Maytag-man all the way. Seventeen homes and four vacation homes were all Maytag equipped. Some 200+ condos I developed also all sported Maytags.

If anyone ever asked I would suggest Maytag. Many did.

Five years ago, I bought my last Maytag.

I thought it would be an excellent machine like all my other Maytags.

I was wrong.

I hated it from the first load of laundry. I can be a stubborn SOB. My stubbornness is one reason I haven't pitched that PoS in the trash. The second reason was the fact that it was a Maytag. 

I assumed it was something I was doing wrong.

Once a company earns a devoted fan, they need to screw the pooch in a really big way to lose that fan as a customer.

This machine, a Maytag Centennial model whoGivesAFlyingCrapImDoneWithMaytags, was obviously designed by a very talented engineer. 

He or she got planned obsolescence down pat. 

The extended warranty expired July 9th and the machine broke down July 17th. (it has since been repaired twice)

You can't get much closer than that.

Talented indeed! Too bad that, apparently, they never did a load of laundry in their lives. Neither did whoever approved the design. If they had real-world laundry experience they may have made different choices.

Maytag: Design your product with the end user in mind

Most of you know I love automation. It frees us up from mundane repetitious tasks to focus on more important stuff. 

Too much automation is a problem. Too much automation can breed complacency. Too much automation can interfere with the intended benefits.

This machine has too much automation.

The main dial isn't a dial at all. It's just a selector switch. A row of buttons would do a better job. The dial does nothing more than set the type of wash. It doesn't move. It doesn't provide any feedback as to what's going on.

Couple that with an opaque lid that locks and you are completely in the dark.

That's not the worst of it.

The rinse cycle spins at about 2 gazillion rpm. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but not by much. You gotta see this thing go to believe it. At that rate of spin, you would think there was some sort of bracing. After all, the slightest imbalance would cause havoc leading to BANG, CLANG, BOOM, SMASH, BANG, BANGs.

Nope.

For five years now, there have been very few laundry loads that did not necessitate a mad dash to the laundry room. We can't set the machine and leave. I can't accept business calls if the washer is running. I often need to schedule coding sessions to avoid wash days.

Come to think of it, laundry day is Friday. I rarely work at all on Fridays.

That's just as well. Interruptions and coding or writing don't mix.

The bloody washer bangs and shakes and takes power walks. I should probably buy it a pink track suit with lots of glitter. It gives a whole new meaning to the sentence, "The washer is running." 

Mine does so literally.

It has hit the wall so hard that shelves fell. We had bleach and detergent dumped everywhere.

It has hit the wall so hard the drywall broke, twice.

If I don't get to it in time, the (expletive deleted) beast goes into anaphylactic shock. Or is it a self-induced coma? Or, maybe it's a seizure? How should I know? 

I'm not a doctor. 

I'm just a pissed-off consumer.

All the lights flash, everything stops. There's no way to reset the washer short of pulling the plug which I can't reach without climbing over the washer.

I end up going to the breaker box to reset the entire circuit.

Here's an ironic twist. As I'm writing about the mad dashes, I had to stop to dash to the washer.

Here's how most loads go.

1 - Select a cycle. Load the clothes. Add detergent. Press Start.

2 - The psychotic beast goes through a preliminary balance check. That means a bunch of clicks. minor bangs, buzzes, and partial spins to make sure the load is balanced. That's actually pretty smart. The label printed inside the lid warns about these strange noises. That too is a smart idea. It prevents immediate returns.

3 - The machine fills and starts its wash cycles.

4 - The machine drains and starts its spin cycles. Remember that balance check? The engineer apparently didn't consider that clothes will redistribute themselves during the wash cycles. Ooopsies.

5 - BANG, CLANG, BOOM, SMASH, BANG, BANG. Sprint to the laundry room and hit the pause button.

6 - Wait for the tub to come to a complete stop. You can't see it. Wait for the click and the indicator light that says the lid unlocked. While waiting, pick up whatever fell off the shelves, post an article, call your most blabber-mouthed friend. It takes a while to go from a gazillion rpm to 0. I guess a brake system was too much.

7 - Once unlocked, redistribute the load. Cross your fingers. Cross your eyes. Cross anything that comes in twos. Shake a rattle made of chicken bones to ward off the Laundry Demons while chanting in Creole. A voodoo headdress is optional but highly recommended.

8 - Hit the start button again and stand by. 

9 - Repeat steps 6 through 8 until there are no more  BANG, CLANG, BOOM, SMASH, BANG, BANGs.

This is "automatic?" I think not.

Rant Mode off. 

I'm off to buy a new washing machine.

It won't be a Maytag.