OK, so a couple of weeks ago our washing machine went on the fritz. We ordered a part for it, and when it came I called Nate at work to let him know , so he could hopefully come home a little early to repair it because he had other appointments later that evening, and we were getting into a serious crisis of underpants. He came home about an hour early and installed our new timer in less than 30 minutes. We decided to run it through a super short cycle with no clothes just to make sure it was working properly before we through a bunch of clothes in there only to end up with a big sopping wet mess of half-clean duds.
Anywho, we ran it through a cycle and it kind of had this extra long pause before the rinse cycle, which is where it was totally stopping before we had installed the new part. It had been agitating through the wash cycle and then would just stop dead, not draining or rinsing or spinning. There were a couple of times that I was able to coax it into the other part of the cycle with some creative knob-turning (or so I thought—a little foreshadowing for you there), so we assumed it must be the timer. We had had to replace the timer about 5 years ago, and at the time when I complained to the repair man about the washer being less than two years old and shouldn’t the dang timer last longer than that, he replied, “You never know about timers. They could last 30 minutes or 30 years. You just never know.”
But while we were running our post-repair test cycle it seemed like a really loooong pause, so we were worried it wasn’t fixed after all and I was about ready to cry. I had already sorted 7 loads of laundry and I was ready to go! I leaned forward onto the washer to hang my head in my hands in despair, and the rinse cycle kicked in. We thought, huh, maybe we just don’t have an accurate idea of how long each part of the cycle takes. I mean, it’s not like we ever sit in the laundry room and watch the washer. I don’t even have one of those cool front loaders with the glass doors so that you can see the clothes swishing around. I suppose if I did, that might be a tempting pasttime. So with a great deal of relief I went about my merry way cooking dinner while the washer finished washing all of my underwear. Success!
With one load of victory under my belt, I decided to tackle the rest of my mountain, and threw in another load. Well, I went upstairs to tend to this and that, and when I came back downstairs, I noticed that the machine had paused again after the agitating part of the cycle. I stood there for a full five minutes waiting for it to kick in. I knew something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Some drama ensued, which included some loud and emotional muttering on my part. I leaned forward on the washer, putting my weight on the lid while I peered over the back to see if there was something weird going on with the drain pipe or some other washing machine ailment that would miraculously make itself known to me and that I would then know what to do about, and the washer kicked back on again. Startled, I jumped back a little and it stopped. I pushed back down on the lid and it started. I eased back and it stopped. Push, on. Pull back, stop. Hmmmm. Push, on. Pull back, on. Hmmmmmmmmmm.
I figured it must have something to do with the little sensor thingy under the lid that lets it know if the lid is open or not. Our washing machine will continue to agitate when the lid is open (I always thought this was strange as our last washing machine always stopped whatever it was doing when we opened the lid), but will stop spinning, rinsing, etc. I let the washer finish its cycle, because hey, it was working, so better not to interrupt its workingness—I had a load of colors at stake here, including the shirt Tyler was supposed to be wearing for school pictures the next day.
After that load was done, I threw in another, and when it stopped this time, I opened the lid and fiddled with the little sensor button thing. (By this time everyone was in bed, so I was left to my own devices.) When I pushed it down the washer came back on, but I also noticed that it had quite a bit of give to it. It was loose, so when the lid was shut, the little pointy thing that was supposed to push on the sensor to indicate the lid was closed was just pushing the whole piece down and thus not making the right connections. I tried tightening the screws to keep it in position, but the screws just kind of spun. So I did the next best thing to actually repairing something, and pulled out the duct tape. My washing machine lid sensory doohickey thing is now being held securely in place with the cure all of home improvement and repair. The cycle, of course, finished. And when I threw in another load, it ran all the way through without incident. I fixed my not really broken washing machine all by myself with a roll of duct tape!
So the moral of the story is threefold:
1. Don’t call a washer repairman to look at your “broken” washing machine because even though the thing you thought was wrong with it, wasn’t actually and you spent $150 (with shipping) on a part you didn’t need, you have 90 days to return said part, and while you’ll lose the $15 shipping charge (and whatever it will cost you to ship it back, which I assure you was not any $15), you will still end up paying considerably less than a $60+ whatever bogus work/part they’d tell you you’d need service call.
2. Sometimes when it ain’t broke, you still have to fix it.
3. Never underestimate the power of duct tape.
Nate offered to look into replacing the sensor, but I’m thinking it’s not that it’s broken, it just doesn’t want to stay put, and since I’ve already remedied that with the duct tape, what would be the point? And I do apologize to all of you who may feel I’ve betrayed our sex with the employment of the infamous duct tape for a home repair project. But I’m really having a hard time feeling too badly about it, sitting here in my soft as a summer’s breeze and fresh as the morning dew unmentionables.
