“Modern household appliances no longer come with simple dials. They come with digital touchscreens, wi-fi connectivity and a smug attitude,” bemoans PAUL DORIN. 

I have come to the terrifying conclusion that I need a four-year engineering degree just to wash a load of darks.

Modern household appliances no longer come with simple dials. They come with digital touchscreens, wi-fi connectivity and a smug attitude. 

We are told these gadgets are designed to make our lives easier, yet about a year ago, I spent 40 minutes staring at my washing machine while it flashed a cryptic error code – E11 – at me.

What does E11 mean? Is the water pressure low? Is the drum unbalanced? Or has the machine achieved consciousness and decided it simply refuses to wash my socks anymore?

I did what often fixes everything: turned it off and back on again. Nothing.

I was deep in the throes of this technological existential crisis when my phone rang. Naturally, it was a telemarketer.

Under normal circumstances, an unsolicited cold call gets an immediate “No, thank you” and a swift hang-up. But I was broken. When the voice on the other end chirped: “Hello! How are you doing today?” I didn’t stick to the script.

I cracked. And I’m pretty sure they thought I was a much older person.

“I am not okay!” I cried into the receiver. “My washing machine is blinking E11 at me, my clothes are trapped in a watery hostage situation, and I am losing my mind!”

There was a brief, stunned silence. I expected a click. Instead, the sales pitch was instantly abandoned. The telemarketer transformed from a corporate drone into an emergency first responder.

For the next five minutes, it felt like an air-traffic controller talking a stricken pilot through an emergency landing, calmly guiding them through every step as though their lives depended on it.

Only it was socks.

I did exactly as I was told. Suddenly, the machine let out a triumphant beep. The digital screen cleared. The drum began to spin. The crisis was averted.

I braced myself for the catch. Surely, they would now ask for my credit card number or try to sell me a 24-month electricity contract.

But no. Like a true, faceless hero of the digital age, they simply said: “Glad I could help. You have a wonderful day.”

We exchanged expressions of deep human gratitude and hung up. I still don’t know what they were selling.

You would think I’d learned my lesson about appliance anxiety, but then Christmas arrived, bringing with it the ultimate test: an air fryer.

Gifted by my wonderful children, this shiny black obelisk sat on my kitchen bench for weeks, mocking me. The control panel looked like the cockpit of an Airbus A380.

I was intimidated. I was reluctant. Eventually, I bypassed the terrifying user manual entirely and went straight to my real university: YouTube.

Thanks to YouTube, I can now air-fry a perfect batch of hot chips.

Just like my smartphone, I reckon I’m using only about a third of the device’s potential.

I do much the same with my other appliances. My microwave has buttons for “sensor cook”, “weight defrost” and “stage-bake” – complex culinary algorithms I will probably never use. I just blast leftovers for two minutes.

And I know I’m not alone in this tech-induced panic. This is a global, multigenerational crisis.

My auntie and uncle recently went on a relaxing holiday to a lovely modern resort. Instead of lounging by the pool, they spent the first three days giving FaceTime a massive workout.

They repeatedly called their adult children back home just to get the basic functions of their holiday apartment working.

It was an international IT support desk situation.

“How do we turn on the television?”

“Why is the dishwasher growling at us?”

“What button starts the stove?”

They needed a millennial rescue team just to make a piece of toast and watch the evening news.

We don’t need a university degree to live in a smart home. We just need a YouTube connection, a healthy dose of humility, reliable mobile data for emergency family FaceTime calls, and the hope that the next telemarketer who rings is secretly a certified appliance repairman.

Paul Dorin is the CityNews cartoonist.

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