Pointless soul destroying ongoing fights with inanimate objects

[HoneyDragon]

The compost bin provided by the council. The bastard. I spent a painful 5 minutes trying to wrestle that fucker shut today before I realised the handle had slipped under the hinge. I won in the end but the fuckers still looking smug in the utility room.

And EVERYTHING in my understairs cupboard works on a rota to pick a fight with me. Sometimes the vacuum and ironing board work together to get me.

What intimate object regularly picks fights with you?

Have you ever finally emerged victorious?

It gives me an error message saying "poor quality"

How rude!

Not strictly household, but I sometimes get 'wrong weight' yelled at me if I do something wrong at the self-service supermarket checkout. VERY personal, I think.

Yy to classics!

I'd like to add my bastard radiators. Three of them will not be bled. I have tried with four different keys/pliers/doodads. Who decided that this would be the best system?

The plastic caps from drinks bottles regularly fight against me putting them back on the bottle. Little shits always try to run away across the floor.

I miss my dishwasher. It's still here, but it's sitting forlornly in the middle of the kitchen floor, disconnected from life, waiting for dh to finish this big job at work and then actually fix it.

I haven't done so much washing up in years.

Where dh disconnected the dishwasher from under the sink is now an open pipe. It used to take the water from the dishwasher. I keep forgetting that it is now open and when I pour the water away out of the washing up bowl it erupts from the little open pipe and sprays the entire contents of my cupboard with dirty water.

It is a bastard, without a doubt, but I am clearly a forgetful twat so I'll let it off.

Wellingtons, three pairs of Hunters in ascending size order to be exact try hard knobbers that we are
I stand them up, we look all Country Living for all of about three minutes, then a person/ dog/ wood louse meanders nearby and they fall fucking over. I stand them back up..... well you can guess the rest

It's got to the stage where they're known in our house as "Wellington fucking boots" :o

Interesting I own three pairs of Wellies, but only the Hunters always fall over in the cupboard. The others stand firm against the daily onslaught of shoes bags and coats thrown in.

That's clearly my mistake honey

Stupid fucking tubes and bottles of moisturiser, foundation, serum, make-up bits etc. on dressing tables.

They must think it's some kind of fucking game. To fall over. One after another. Every bleeding morning.

There they stand, all perfectly erect, lined up next to the mirror. I take one tube carefully and replace carefully.
Except, no matter what, one of the other non-involved items will decide to fall down and die in dramatic fashion ... If I pick it up another one joins in, until the whole lot are falling around. Fuckers.

I put them all back peevishly BUT 10 times out of 10 THE ORIGINAL WILL FALL DOWN. AGAIN.

I EVEN SPACE THE FUCKERS OUT TO STOP IT HAPPENING BUT LIKE A BUNCH OF PATHETIC DOMINOES ONE WILL FALL AND START THE WHOLE FECKING THING OFF AGAIN.

I have to add on 10 minutes to my daytime routine for 'Standing up the tubes & bottles time.'

I once slammed a bottle down so hard after it had deliberately fallen over ONCE AGAIN I gouged the wooden top.

It was worth it though.

Maybe I should give in to old age and give up the beauty routine...!!!

I lost my fucking shit at our old toaster and beat it to death with a rolling pin after it stubbornly refused to spit out my breakfast, set off the smoke alarm and shat crumbs out of its arse one time too many times. Enjoy life in the tidy tip, you little fucknut.

The microwave. But only when introduced to baking potatoes by me. It's like a happy child going on a play date when DH puts baking potatoes inside it. But me? It acts like iI'm sending it on a blind date with a "really really interesting" distant friend. Refuses to cooperate. Refuses to build up any type of heat with the potato. Temperamental fucker. Just BAKE the sodding potato for me.

The shower plug hole hates us all. It blocks but there is no blockage. Then eats essential but easily lost bits from DD's toys and then drains like a super drainy fucker.

To equal things up with the microwave, the car air con and heater hates DH and refuses to work for him but it LOVES me and is super keen to make sure I am at perfect temperature on car journeys. I swear it enjoys when DH mutters at it.

I love my Henry. My mother's ex hoover though was a bastard. One day I walked into it it sprang out from behind the door and viciously attacked me, breaking my toe. I was glad when it finally died and she replaced it with a less painful version!

Henry the Hoover is a total fucking prick. Every time I pick him up by the handle, my finger gets jammed between the handle and the twizzly knob thing and it is SO PAINFUL. The smug, grinning little fucktard. Also, he gets stuck in doorways/on table legs/everywhere and the cord always managed to come out of the plug socket. I have kicked the horrible little twatweasel in his simple face many a time.

As for foil and clingfilm: sometime in the Seventies or Eighties there was a bitter dispute in the letters page of Which - conducted at the sedate pace of a monthly magazine, it would be rather quicker and more vicious now - between the faction which said the serrated edge on the dispenser was a danger to children and should not be allowed and the faction which said it was useful and it was up to parents (although they said "mothers") to keep dispensers and children separate.

Not that I'm suggesting a MN rerun . . .

Dear God, man. NO!

ShelaghTurner

It's called a lock staple, or a latchplate.

It should not be flat, the tongue should be bent so it slopes back towards the frame/wall, so that it is a ramp to push the latch in, as the door closes.

You need a vice to hold the part with the hole while you bend the tongue.

We have two complete sets of screw holes for the bolt in our back gate. Every few weeks we have to move the entire bolt up a centimetre. A few weeks later we have to unscrew the thing and move it back again. Up. Down. Up. Down. Luckily it's DH who faffs with it.

I'm a lightbulb killer, I only need to turn them on, sometimes I only need to walking into the room, and they go. They just don't want me to be able to see. We go through a seriously huge amount of light bulbs. I used to think that it was a problem with the electrics but we have moved about six times and the only common factor seems to be me. I no longer turn on lights in other people's houses because of the frequency of killing their lights too.

There were cling film debates? I never knew that. I'm guessing honeydragon doesn't want that particular topic brought back up...

Loving this thread. So much anger from household appliances!

Although like a pp I also work where there's a printer/scanner that refused to acknowledge my existence. Anyone else and it its all "oh hello you again, let me scan that and sent it straight to your inbox" but we me it just...

"Nope, don't know that surname.
Or first name.
Or email address, sorry.
Who are you? Are you sure you work for this company?"

Ok, so I'm paraphrasing slightly but that's how "no results for that name" feels eventually.

Oh dear, I'm weeping with hilarity and sheer 'thank god its not just me' at all these wonderful posts.

Would this be the moment to air my theory that teaspoons are in fact the larval stage of coathangers - thus explaining how the former disappear and the latter mysteriously multiply? The way I see it, once the brood of shiny little utensils reach the appropriate point in their lifecycle, they creep away into a dark, warm space, wrap themselves a cosy little cocoon of clingfilm and gestate until it is time for them to spread their wirey, pointypokey wings and then swarm into your wardrobe to lurk and plan their revenge for all those indignities imposed on them in their early days...

Greybonnet yours is the only theory that makes sense.

Oh thank you honeydragon for the validation - off to show this thread to DH who thinks I'm bonkers overthinking the issue...

Henry is a complete bastard. It was my turn to be the smug one the other day when his shiny new replacement arrived. The little fucker has been turfed out of his comfy cupboard under the stairs and has been relegated to the garage to live with his equally smug-faced big brother George.

Thinking about it we should probably split them up, the sneaky little gits are probably planning our demise.

We use one of those little hand-held vacuum cleaners which spits dust at DW if she dares switch it on. No idea why. It works the way it's supposed to for me.

I had no idea that the Clingfilm Question had ever been debated here but now I think of it it's an obvious subject for a large number of opinionated women and a smaller number of equally opinionated men to get into a cyber-frenzy about!

No-one else has a possessed cafetière? Waits until it's full of scalding coffee then squirts grounds and hot water everywhere at the slightest pinkie pressure on the bit you are supposed to bloody push? And when you try and pull it back up, the sodding thing has meanwhile unscrewed itself so the mesh bit stays at the bottom.