Our Money Gets Laundered

We made another foray to the appliance bazaars Wednesday, this time to Sears, to gather more data in aid of replacing our washer and dryer. Again, there was the bewildering array of models and features, and we’d done only minimal research since our trip to Lowe’s last weekend. I had pretty much decided, though, that I wanted to focus on the energy-efficient front-loading models.

The salesman immediately showed us to a pair of sleek, midnight-blue things that had flashing lights and actually played a musical little “zing” when they powered up, acting more like pinball machines or video games than the stalwart appliances we thought we were shopping for.

We listened politely as he described their arcane functions, then demurred and ratcheted down a couple of levels to a set that didn’t cost as much as an SUV. As it happened, they were having a sale that ended that very day and, while I’d like to say that I was rational and organized in my approach to this purchase, I felt Mrs. Perils starting to hyperventilate again, and I certainly had better things to do with my time, so we just bought the damn things.

The day that they were to be delivered, Mrs. Perils expressed just a bit of sentimental feelings about these prosaic old boxes that have served us, with only one service call, for 35 years. Here they are feeling the full brunt of our betrayal.
Click any photo to enlarge

And here are their replacements newly installed. Our laundry room is on the second floor, and our stairway takes a pretty tight 90-degree turn on the way up. I’m surprised the installers never made a peep when they apprehended the enormity of the task.

The old washer and dryer were pretty simple machines. You pretty much just turned them on and off. The new ones look a lot like a 747 cockpit. Mrs. Perils went to a college famous for its engineering curriculum, but her degree was in Fine Arts. She’s been poring over the manuals, though, and we may do our first load of laundry tomorrow. Foam the runways.

13 Comments

  1. 35 years??!! We’re on our third washing machine & second dryer. Next time I buy American…

  2. Isn’t it amazing how high-tech these machines have become. Just imagine our predecessors used to do this with rocks and river, and some sunlight. Of course, they didn’t have all the fabulous fabric choices we have! Good luck with the machines. We often are lured to make a choice by the last day of a sale. I’m usually grateful for the impetus.

  3. newer machines do seem to have options that most people will never use, or possibly never even understand. how much of the capabilities of Word or Photoshop do most of us use? 10%? 20%? i have moved and changed situations so often that laundry machines sometimes got left behind. i did have a dryer for at least 20 years tho.

    i’m with mrs perils on the shopping thing. let’s just buy something and go home.

  4. Phil:

    Dick, it’s probably the simplicity that accounted for the longevity.

    Robin & Roger, I pretty much knew where I wanted to be price-wise, and that I wanted them to be high-efficiency models, so I felt pretty safe just dropping the bucks on Kenmore stuff. Also, I think Robin makes pretty good use of Photoshop. I stumble over simple things like layering and selection wands. And let’s not even talk about all the stuff on the camera that I have no idea what to do with.

  5. Good luck on the new contraptions…may they last another 35 years. The photss of the controls look much like our new washer. But you went all the way to front-loading…we would have done, but our laundry room is so small we couldn’t get the washer to fit without permanently removing the door to the room. Had to be satisfied with a high efficiency top loader. I loathe shopping, too. If I could, I’d simply have a tailor drop by periodically to measure my growing girth, then ship in a new set of clothes for me…shopping for clothes is my chief complaint about society’s expectation that I wear them. Now,t hen, maybe I could become a nudist…that would upset so very many people who have tender sensitivities.

  6. OK, I like the big red “STOP” buttons. I like those a lot.

  7. Marcia:

    Thank you for sharing. I’ve never been really happy with my Maytags but I have a new-found appreciation for their 20-year-old simplicity and I swear I will never again kick the washer when the sheets get twisted.

  8. Marcia:

    Oh! And I hope you’re mother is doing better.
    I’m off to Ohio tomorrow to visit with my own mum for a few days.
    Would you know if they’ve rescinded their ‘right-to-carry’ law yet?

  9. Phil:

    John, maybe you could sit on a freeway off-ramp, nude, with a sign soliciting funds for a new washer/dryer combination.

    Kathy, I think I’m afraid to push ANY buttons on the things. If the cat was in there screaming…I’d be looking for the “FASTER” button.

    Marcia, I guess abusing the appliances is the only way to carry on an affair with the Maytag repairman, if you buy into the legend of their alleged loneliness.

    I’m a neglectful blogger - my mom ended up not having any injection procedure, and she’s doing really well - thanks for asking!. Have a nice visit with yours. Question: is it your mum’s concealed pearl-handled Derringer you’re afraid of? And don’t forget the Buckeyes play in Lexington on Thursday.

  10. Phil, I’m so surprised…was that you who honked at me as I pranced naked on the feeder road? By the way, thanks for the donation, but I would have preferred U.S. dollars…the bag of dirty clothes just didn’t do it for me.

  11. Carroll:

    Ooooooh, SNAAAAA Z! You’re right about simplicity = longevity. I swear, when our “old reliable” major appliannces finally started fading on us after years of service, the new ones seemed built with obsolescence in mind. Here’s to happy laundering!

  12. Aviator:

    Nice pair there!!

  13. We’re laundry mates!! So far I’m liking (but not loving) it. Did your washer gather hair ‘n’ gunk in the doorway? The clothes are clean, but $288 would have done that! These were around $700! (But yeah, I am feeling good and green…)

    Carol