I’ve come to the conclusion that the word “new” is just another way of saying “we haven’t found out what’s wrong with it yet.”
You buy something brand new, bring it home, and for the first five minutes you’re feeling pretty good about yourself.
“Look at this. Brand new. This thing ought to last forever.”
Then reality walks through the front door.
The new thing starts making a noise.
A weird noise.
Not a normal noise either.
It’s the kind of noise that makes you stop what you’re doing, stare at it, and say:
“Well… that ain’t supposed to do that.”
And it seems like everything is built this way now.
You buy a new tool and somehow the battery lasts about as long as your patience.
You buy a new appliance and it has 47 different settings, but somehow the one setting you actually need is hidden behind three menus and a button combination that requires a college degree.
You buy something that is supposed to make life easier, and instead you spend two hours trying to figure out why it won't turn on.
Meanwhile, the old one sitting in the garage looks at you like:
“You idiot. I told you not to get rid of me.”
That's the part that gets me.
The old stuff might have been ugly, heavy, loud and inefficient, but it worked.
If something broke, you could usually figure out why.
If a switch quit working, you replaced the switch.
If something needed tightening, you grabbed a wrench.
If a motor quit, you started poking around until you found the problem.
Now something stops working and the first thing you hear is:
“Have you tried resetting it?”
Yes.
I've reset it.
I've unplugged it.
I've plugged it back in.
I've stared at it.
I've threatened it.
I've questioned my life choices.
It's still broken.
And don't even get me started on durability.
It seems like some new stuff is designed with a very specific lifespan.
Not “How long can we make this last?”
More like:
“How long can we make this last until the warranty expires?”
You can have an old tool that has been beaten, dropped, covered in dirt, used in the rain, left in the truck and abused for 25 years.
It still works.
Then you buy the modern version.
First week:
“This is awesome!”
Six months later:
“Why is this piece falling off?”
A year later:
“Where's the receipt?”
And two years later:
“I should've kept the old one.”
That's probably the biggest lesson I've learned.
When something old keeps working, don't get rid of it just because something newer came along.
That old thing has earned its place.
It's been through things.
It doesn't need an app.
It doesn't need Wi-Fi.
It doesn't need a software update.
It doesn't need you to create an account just to turn it on.
You just turn it on.
And it works.
What a revolutionary concept.
Maybe someday they'll start advertising new products differently:
“Introducing our newest model! It works for almost three years!”
I'll take two.
But until then, I'll probably keep fixing the old stuff.
Because sometimes the best new thing you can buy…
is nothing.
Just keep using the old thing.
At least you already know what's wrong with it.
And if something new does break?
Well, that's okay.
I'll just add it to the growing pile of stuff that was supposed to make my life easier.
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