I’ve decided to force myself to type some shit with my new work laptop because the keyboard is fucking weird and I can’t get used to it. It’s got keys in weird places, sort of like the face goiters around here.

It’s a Siemens. While I appreciate the fact that my work entrusts me to have a laptop and all that, and the thing is really fast, there are a few problems. There’s a seriously huge problem: it runs Windows. But other issues exist. One, it’s called “Siemens”. You know what I’m saying? Second, I just resolved to never give Siemens another dime of my cash (or Euro 10 cent piece) ever again as long as I live. And here’s why.

When we moved into our new place in Vienna, we had to buy a washer and dryer. Despite the fact that we had really awesome appliances in the States, the weird incompatible and generally perplexing differences in the electrical systems dictated that we give some lucky people in Portland a really fucking good deal on our awesome, perfect, never-a-problem washer and dryer in order to facilitate the move. Well, we sold it to some lady with 4 kids and I can’t help but feel pretty good about that because the washer and dryer were built like tanks and had years ahead of them.
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We walked over to our local electronics “Best Buy” type place called Saturn or Cosmos or somehing equally space age sounding and tried our best to do our research “auf Deutsch.” Eventually, a salesman took pity on me filled me in on the details of the various models in English. He, of course, suggested the Miele brand—the most expensive possible washer and dryer you can buy at a “normal” store (I’m sure there are upmarket boutique appliance stores one can visit and pay ludakris (sic) sums for machines made of gold and whatnot).

Now, I’m a huge fan of good design. I’m also a gadget nrrrrd who never indulges in his gadget lust (I’m still on iPod Mini). But I’m also a guy who has a family and doesn’t really know exactly how long he’ll be living in the land of weird electricity and funny-looking plugs. These Miele washers are amazing to behold, though. The engineering and thought put into them made me realize that they are the Mercedes and Macintosh of the washer and dryer world. I’m assuming the man was thinking he was about to make a cha-ching Diplomatic tax-free sale, but his face sank low when I said “do you have anything cheaper?” By the way, Miele washers and dryers are about $2,000 per unit.

Well, to cut to the chase, he talked me up from the EUR 400 level to the EUR 600 level because of the fact that I had a baby (more laundry) and the fact that he proclaimed the Siemens very durable and strong compared to the off-market brand we were considering. We bought both units for cash and signed up for delivery—a cool EUR 1.200,00 disappearing from our already-lightened pockets.

I should have known things were going to go sour when the delivery man hooked up the machines, proclaimed himself finished, and asked me to sign the slip.

“May I try them out before you leave?” I asked in German.

“Of course!” he exclaimed, and proceeded to twiddle and bloop and bleep various insrcrutible controls on the washer and mutter various instructions in gutteral, incomprehensible German (we still don’t really understand how to work the things and just go by a ‘that worked last time’ sort of method).

The machine showed 1:30 on the countdown—an hour and a half. That’s how long it takes to wash a damn load of laundry in Europe. The dryer takes about that, too. Can I get a WTF? I knew that I could!

I glanced behind the machine. A steady drip of water was creating a puddle underneath the washer.

“I don’t think it’s hooked up right!”

“Of course it is. They are always hooked up the same,” he explained in German.

He poked his head around back, placed his finger over the drip, and stopped the flow.

“Kommisch!” (Funny or Odd)

He turned to his partner and started speaking quick German. Eventually, his partner left the room.

“He is getting another (insert incomprehensible word here).”

“OK”
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It turns out, the little connector that came with my washer was defective. Normally, it’s supposed to contain a little rubber gasket. Mine didn’t have that. He charged me EUR 4,00 for a new one. Can I get another WTF? I knew that I could!
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We washed semi-happily for a while. Sure, all of our clothes got ruined, but it was better than trying to find a self-laundering facility (good fucking luck with that).

Here’s the thing about EuroWashers: they get REALLY hot. This is why it takes six hours to do a load of laundry: the water comes into the machine cold and is heated internally.
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One day, we noticed strange sound coming out of the machine. I figured it was well within our warranty period, so I just let it go on. I had the notion that once the machine went kaput, we’d have a new one. It certainly sounded like it was going toes up—a horrible grinding noise that sounded like it needed re-aligned and oiled.

Sure, I tried to fix it. But the mechanisms all seemed heavily sealed and anything I had access to seemed to yield no method of repair or investigation.

After a few weeks (or months), the thing indeed gave up the ghost. The thing would fill with water, but it wouldn’t drain. I had to use a bucket and cup to drain the thing. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get it to empty completely. Machines here even have a “pump out” setting—dead. I was beginning to believe that this thing was the machine that sucked so much, it couldn’t suck. It was beyond suck. Sucker than suck.

I tried to find the manual to get the support number, but it never materialized. I searched for a few days here and there, and then things became critical. On a whim, I went to the Siemens Austria website, found a “contact us” link and sent an email in German and in English stating my issue and pleading for help. I figured it was going to be ignored, and planned to leave work early the next day so I could get to the store from where it was purchased before they closed at the incredibly convenient hour of 6 PM.

Knock me over with a bitch slap, someone from Siemens called me the next day. The German was thick, but I machete-chopped through to realize he was saying he thought I had something “stuck in my pump” and offered to email me an English version of the manual. I went around the office all day telling everyone how much I loved Siemens. When was the last time you sent a blind email to a huge company and got a speedy, helpful response? I thought so.

Emboldened, I went home after work instead of to the store and, armed with my printout of the 2 pages form the manual (all that he sent me was these two pages), I learned how to open up the pump, pull out the little siphon, and drain the water from the machine. I discovered how to “clean” the pump—something that one is supposed to do on a regular basis.

I don’t know what’s so different and special about EuroWasher pumps that they need to be cleaned, but I’ve been wearing clothes from washers and doing my laundry in washers for 35 years and have never once had to clean out the pump. How the fuck was I supposed to know this?

Anyway, I cleaned out the pump and, in it, I found a 20 European Cent coin and a bit of highly-polished (as in tumble-polished) piece of plastic. Hmmm….

I sealed everything back together and gave it a go: still dead. My heart sank.
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My German is only so-so. I can understand just about everything simple, but it’s incredibly difficult to understand A) technical situations and B) Viennese German. But I called them back.

“What is the model number?” the lady on the other end of the line asked.

“It is the (say) X2429.”

“That is not the complete model number. I have to have the complete model number. It should be inside the door.”

Shit. I can only call from work because customer service hours are only available during business hours here in Austria. I didn’t have the number.

“Sorry. I need it.” She hung up with a cheery “Nice remainder of the day to you.”

I called my wife, got the number, called back and got the same lady. I told her I had the number now, but she acted like she didn’t remember me. She made me go through the whole story again and said she’d set up a service call. I explained to her that the guy had told me to clean out the pump and that I did it but nothing worked.

“You’re in the 7th District, right?” Now she remembers me. Sheesh! “8 days is the soonest I have. Thank you!” She hung up. Eight days with no laundry (after 4 or so already due to my slacker approach and confusion). Crap.
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The man arrived to fix the washer.

“It is the pump for sure,” he explained. “I will need a towel and a pan.”

My wife retrieved a pan and grabbed two towels. He turned to receive the goods.

“I only need one towel!” he shouted.

He drained the water from my unsuccessful attempts at reviving the washer and removed the pump. It was a quick operation, and once he replaced the pump, everything worked very well. My wife was extremely happy because we were totally wearing clothes over and over again and our baby was starting to develop a crust.

He proudly produced the invoice for nearly EUR 400,00. Can I get a WTF? I knew that I could!

How can a washer break within 8 months of purchase on its two year warranty and cost nearly EUR 400,00 to fix? Well, according to Manfred McFuckface, here’s how (from reading the pre-printed invoice and translated from German):

Customer reports pump is not functioning. This should not happend during normal operation. Customer reports that customer’s husband cleaned the pump. It is likely that the customer’s husband broke the pump wings when he did this. The pump wings never break under normal conditions, therefore, no warranty.

If the fucking pump and pump wings never break, why the hell is AustroRepairDude in my house fixing them? I was so pissed off that I have vowed to take all of my business transactions away from Siemens for all time. I also made some rather extreme pronouncements about the Austrian labor market and services industry and how a gray Ukranian, Polish, Slovenian and Croation labor pool would be my preferred supplier in the future, but then I realized I can’t really participate in that market given my visa and status with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. But seriously, who the hell do these people think they are to charge EUR 65/person/hour (plus Wegzeit—they charge for just driving to your place based on distance) when a legitimate Polish guy will do it for EUR 8,00? But I digress. The point here is that Siemens is on full Halfass Boycot. I hate them, I hate their products and I’ll never give them another Euro/Dollar.

And yet I type this on a Siemens laptop. Cruel, cruel fate. I requested a MacBook Pro, but due to rules for procurement where I work, that would have to go out to a new RFP for laptop suppliers and, quite frankly, I needed this thing before my duty travels.

Anyway, given my tenuous grasp on German, the general “if you’re dealing with locals you’re fucked already” fatalism and the general huge number of other hassles and day-to-day task I and my family have to accomplish, I’m just going to have to chalk this one up to getting ripped off for being a stupid foreigner and living up to the prejudice. Oh well, “da muss ich durch!”