A few years ago, my father gave me a pair of Bose’s QC-2 headphones. They were awesome. I wore them while working at coffee shops, on airplanes, and to get the most out of my Brahms and Decemberists.
Last week, alas, I broke a piece of plastic on one side of the headphones. It’s the bit that slides along the headband and swivels. It’s a pretty key element, especially given that piece of plastic cost Bose less than 8¢ and they charged $300 for the headphones. I knew the headphones were no longer under warranty, but I figured I could buy a replacement. I would’ve been happy to pay, say $10 for this 8¢ piece of plastic.
Bose, however, wouldn’t settle for a profit margin of 12,400%. Nope. The only option they’re willing to give me is to trade in my QC2s along with $100 for a new pair of QC15s. (When I told them I wasn’t interested, they replied, “Apologies, but unfortunately the part you are looking for is not something we have available to sell individually.” Does that mean that actually do have them but are unwilling to sell them?) I’m sure the QC15s are quite spiffy, but my QC2s have a lot of life left in them — if only I could get this part.
Not only do they lose me as a customer, though, they also make an enemy. I’m going to work very hard to build a computer model of the part so that I and others can print their own. Hopefully that will put a dent, however small, in their profits. Every time I wear my headphones out, people ask me what I think of them. I used to give glowing reviews. Now I’ll have nothing but vitriol to offer.
And a final suggestion to every consumer products company out there: if the functionality of your $300 product can be lost for want of an 8¢ piece of plastic, order lots of extras. Send one or two along with the original product and make it easy to order more. Make it dead simple for your customers to like you instead of hate you.
(Later: I do have to give Bose credit for one thing: they responded quickly, both via email and Twitter. Their responses were ridiculous, but at least they didn’t leave me wondering.)
Today is trash day. That’s the day wherein we gather up all of our banana peels, used dental floss, socks with holes in them, and broken plant pots and put them on the curb for the nice garbage men1 to collect it. That’s the good part.
Today is also recycling day. That’s the day wherein we gather up all of our wine bottles, empty dental floss containers, and news-magazines-we-never-got-around-to-reading-but-now-we’ve-gotten-the-next-issue-so-why-keep-the-old-one-around-s and put them on the curb for the nice recycling men1 to collect. The intent is good here — the less plastic that makes its way into the Pacific Gyre, the better off our planet is.
The problem is that in Massachusetts we have a bottle deposit. When I buy a can of Coke or a bottle of Duvel, I pay an extra 5¢ to the state. Then, if I return the empty bottle, I get my 5¢ back. Sometimes I forget about a bottle and it goes into the normal recycling pile. No problem, I’m not worried about the occasional 5¢ and I’m happy for the state to keep it to work down its massive budget deficits.
Except the state doesn’t get it. Every trash day there are roving bands of people with shopping carts who go around and poke through the trash and recycling looking for stray soda and beer bottles. I don’t begrudge them poking through my detritus. I sure don’t want it any more. What I do hate is that they tear open bags of trash and leave them mixed in with the recycling. Now everything has to go into the garbage truck and there’s nothing left for the recycling people to pick up. All my effort of separating my garbage so the human race can live on Earth for an extra 0.0002 seconds is for naught.
All for 5¢.
[1] the three who do my street are all men. I’m sure this isn’t a global phenomenon.
Some day I hope to have a bio as creative as the ones on the Bandcamp FAQ. For example:
Shawn Grunberger helped negotiate the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. It was nontrivial.