Letter to the dumb people who make stuff that breaks:
Hey you! You know who you are. I’m talking to you, the designers and builders and head honcho-ponchos of companies who make stuff. Stuff that we, the ordinary stiffs with credit cards, buy. Remember us dopes?
Well, we’re not happy with you right now. Why? Because all that stuff you sold us keeps breaking. Yeah, that’s right — it broke. All of it. At the same time. Everything. Kaputski!
Why, you ask? That’s what we’d like to know! We’re suspecting it has something to do with the fact that it’s all crap. Yeah, that’s right. We think you sold us a bunch of crap. All of it. And we ain’t happy. We’re thinking about coming to your house and busting some of your stuff.
Let me just give you my scenario. It started with my phone. They work best if you can talk on them. They’re less effective, for instance, if you can’t. Mine started getting testy. Beeping all the time, which I know is the electronic equivalent of cursing. Then there were other strange habits, including work strikes. Phones belong to unions?
My answering machine must have been in cahoots because he stopped working, too. Well, not all the time. It was like he would get moody. Some days he would work, others he would just call in sick. Literally, he would beep once and turn off. There was no turning him back on. A day or two later — beep! — he would start working again. The nerve of him! Did you know I had to start answering the phone and talking to people? Some days neither one of them worked and I had to get a carrier pigeon!
Not long after, my lawnmower broke down. He just won’t start. Again, don’t know why. He’s only a couple of years old and I take good care of him. I pull the starter chord and all that happens is he burps, passes a little gas — literally — and then stalls out.
My old lawnmower went years without a problem. In fact, I had him for more than a decade. He was a dutiful servant before he went up to the great lawnmowing pasture in the sky.
He wasn’t newfangled. In fact, he was no-fangled. I never once changed the oil. Actually, I’m not even sure he had any oil. I never replaced a spark plug. I never cleaned the dirt off or un-clumped the grass. And he ran best when I crumpled up a bunch of leaves and sprinkled them in his fuel. All those years he started every time. I only got rid of him when rust ate a hole in the body and the engine fell through.
Anyway, how come the new mower isn’t like that? Hardy and tough. Mean. Dependable. Worst that ever happened with the old mower was an occasional belch of black smoke that would blot out the sun. But he worked when I needed him.
My kitchen faucet started leaking the other day. What’s up with that? That’s not so old either. And the threaded tip on my garden hose broke off. How am I supposed to connect it to the sprinkler now? Duct tape?
The headliner on my car has started wilting. It’s like a tent in there. You can’t drive a tent!
I know what you’re going to say. “Hey there, young mister. Do what everyone else does: Throw it all away and get new ones. That’s the American way. We’re a great disposable society!”
But I beg to differ. That’s NOT the American way. The American way is building stuff that takes a licking and keeps on ticking. It’s pride in craftsmanship. Quality first. Made to last.
Not made to trash.
I’m tired of throwing things away. I’m tired of them only lasting a couple years, then dying right after the warranty ends. You used to make better stuff. What happened?
Better clothes, for instance. Shoot, by the time you get most clothes to the dressing room they’ve already faded and frayed. I once found myself completely naked on a street corner because the clothes I was wearing unraveled on me. Completely naked!!!
Oh, no. We’re tired of being sold crap — plastic garbage and little bits of nothing that will wear out in no time. We’re wise to you, buddy. I read an article the other day about how most new technology is designed to last only a certain amount of time. Do you call it the “die-by” date?
No, we’re not taking it anymore. In fact, I fixed my faucet. Now I’m going to use a little American ingenuity on that engine and bring my lawnmower back to life. I’ll duct tape my sprinkler and I might even staple up my headliner. After that, we’re all coming to your house to break your stuff. Unless, of course, it’s broken already.