One day, the washing machine was feeling a little bit under the weather, nausea was spinning its poor head. It appeared there was a lot too much swirling around its underbelly. As if in a desperate cry for help, the incessant low murmur beeping and neon red flashing display for DANGER (more likely attention seeking rather like males with man-flu) cried out from its small dark mouth:
I wonder what on earth this could possibly mean and peruse the troubleshooting area of the user guide kindly supplied by the manufacturer. Lo and behold, I located some detailed assistance:
Wowzers, I would not ever have guessed that was my current issue considering all the water in the drum was plainly invisible to my eyesight and numb to the touch of my wet hands. However, thank you sincerely for your information, I will proceed to Point 4 as per your guidance:
Paragraph 6.3 you say, well I don’t mind if I do – it’s rather like one of those childhood adventure books, you know, where the reader makes up the story based on decisions set on particular pages. P.a.r.a.g.r.a.p.h.s.i.x.p.o.i.n.t.t.h.r.e.e. is whizzing through my mind at the excitement of the next step:
Excusez-moi? Am I being completely dense? Wash and Dry Programmes? On which day, where purple pigs fly, do activating cycles have any inclination for relationships with mute unstuck cylinders where The water does not drain. I glance over the pages wondering at my disability to comprehend the logic. I continue onwards, and EUREKA! We have Paragraph 7.4:
Just to re-iterate, PARAGRAPH 7.4. SEVEN. POINT. FOUR. They do not have the audacity to even complete checks on the user manuals distributed to the depths of outer space for a washing machine dating back to, the starting point of Back to the Future. God forbid they were writing out clauses to protect consumer rights for let’s say, current account agreements. Calmly. I. Proceed. To. Read. The. Further. Instructions.
Using a coin. Blah. Blah. Blah. At the rear of the machine. That’s handy. Really. Considering:
The cabinet door is screwed tight to the front of the machine, the machine is on a plinth, and therefore I’m unable to pull the plastic-looking metal box of crap out of its make-do igloo housing, never mind reaching for its dirty fat ugly rear. With a coin. For god’s sake.
Were the design engineers highly stoned when setting about the fittings and fixtures for this apartment?