The Washer, Part I

This story won't be as funny as any written by Jerry Seinfeld or Larry David, though in many ways our travails seem similar to watching their shows. And the saga is not over, though it may be soon, but since it has begun, let me also:

About a week ago our washer broke. While working I got a call from the lady that washer was making whirr-whirr-whirr noises when it should have been making the swushy-swish-swushy noises and that the lights were flickering. She didn't know what to do, and neither did I, but as any good husband I know that the answer was just leave it alone, don't worry about it and I'll take care of it when I get home.

So I get home and I turn on the washer and it's making a host of clicking and whizzing noises and lights are flashing everywhere. Well, not actually. But the agitator is not cycling (and it's in the agitator cycle, I know my laundry!), the machine sounds like a car starter is dying, and the lights seem to be surging with each set of clicks and whizzes. (From now on I'll switch back to calling it whirrs, since whizzes are something I'll teach my son when he's older.)

So I stare at the agitator, myself not yet agitated and the clothes wet and motionless, while the clicks and whirrs begin to slow and eventually stop. I turn the knob to the spin cycle and the load continues. I don't know if those clothes were truly clean, but nobody complained vocally. At least not to us. But at least I know that the washer isn't entirely broken. Only some part whose price is probably inversely proportional to it's size and weight (and I expect it to be small and plastic) has malfunctioned or died. And why shouldn't it? The washer has seen eight good years!

That night, as we're eating dinner with family, perusing the paper adverts, we see that washer/dryer pairs are being sold over the Thanksgiving/Black Friday (by the way, I'm entirely disappointed that Black Friday is now a holiday and that it's named such) for a more than reasonable discount. Furthermore, we realize that a suitable replacement for our washer is not an insurmountable cost. Indeed, probably around $300. And we got scrilla rolled up in our pillowcases, so we know we can float $300 for a new washer.

Well, the last part isn't true, but the next morning I did have a wonderful conversation with the lady who answered the phone at a local appliance repair shop. It would be a week before a house visit could be made to determine the cause of the problem. That would cost $60. If I brought the device in the the shop (I really didn't desire lugging the washer) it would be cheaper, but the shop guy is also the house call guy and although he could look at the appliance during nights or weekends, she didn't expect it would be seen any sooner. But she was entirely helpful and pleasant, the latter often going for more in my book. And helped me decide that after the likely $180 labor cost, cost of ordering the part, and cost of waiting a few weeks for the ordered part to come in added up to what was likely to be the price of a new machine (at this point I had given up any desire to repair the device myself, expecting the damaged part to be extremely small, plastic, and expensive), the washer would probably still have some other part break in the near future.

So that seemed to take away option 1. Repair is out. In come options 2, 3, and 4. What do we do? Do we buy a like model, around $330? Do we opt for the advanced, high-effeciency, front-loading model that costs around $660 but expects to use 1/3 the energy and 1/2 to 1/3 the water? Or do we tackle Best-Buy's lure and grab the front-loading combo at $990, this weekend only, four-day sale, buy now or you'll be sorry later, you'd better not pass this up deal and chunk out our working but now-unloved matchless dryer? Obviously option 4 has a lot of that propagandizing appeal to it.

So what do we do? How do we decide? Who do we ask for advice? Should we listen to them? (Being honest, sometimes I ask for, but do not take, advice).