ugh, fix it!

my heroic journey to save a broken kettle

The ordinary world

Last weekend, I stumbled towards my kitchen in search of salvation. My electric kettle—my life force, my best friend, my faithful beacon that carried me through the long winter. But when my finger hit the 'on' button, the red light failed to flash. My path to basic human functionality, cruelly severed.

Words of encouragement (“FREAKING WORK YOU PIECE OF…”) and increasingly aggressive taps against the counter didn’t work. After only a year of use, my dear Bodum departed to the great electronic wasteland in the sky.

The call to adventure

Life has gotten busier. I have friends to see, a job to show up for, family members whom I owe a phone call, navels to gaze into… the list goes on.

I don’t have time to spend on this broken kettle, I thought.

Before I could properly mourn its loss, a replacement kettle magically appeared at my door, delivered by Scamazon. My carbon footprint grew three sizes that day.

But something nagged at me.

People face new challenges to their right to remain in this country, while many are turning to crowdfunding platforms to cover essential medical expenses. The job market is a hellscape and I recently dug up my high school econ notes to decipher what tariffs might mean for my household.

So many of the modern systems we rely on are broken.

If I could just fix one thing —anything— could I reclaim some sense of power? I stared longingly at the broken kettle on my counter.

The mentor

I know just enough about electronics to be dangerous (to myself). So, while I'm handy with a glue gun, attempting to repair anything with a circuit board is squarely out of my depth.

I ran to Jonathan Krones, an Associate Professor of Engineering at Brandeis University and an organizer of Fixit Clinics in the Boston area. Inspired by Repair Cafes and his own research on consumer waste, Jonathan and a handful of volunteers help people do the impossible: build the skills and confidence to repair everyday items.

“We live in a culture of disposability,” he says. “Nothing is built to last anymore.” On average, people purchase a new tea kettle every four to five years, and some suggest that the overall quality of consumer goods is declining.

A growing movement—the “Right to Repair”—calls for manufacturers to support consumers who want to fix their own products through access to parts, manuals and tools.

At these monthly Fixit Clinics, people bring in small appliances, bikes, and clothes in need of mending, meeting with Fixit Coaches who help troubleshoot for free.

"You know that screw at the bottom of your appliance?” Jonathan told me with wrapt attention. “You can actually unscrew that," he said.

My brain exploded in a million directions. The items you buy belong to you and you can try to fix them if they break.

It’s a simple idea that continues to dumbfound so many clinic-goers that it's become a running joke. "What's the worst that can happen? It's already broken," Jonathan says.

Crossing the Threshold

My local Fixit Clinic was abuzz with activity. Neighbors clustered around a worktable covered with the guts of various broken electronics. I all but heaved my kettle into my Fixit Coach's face: "I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IT WON'T TURN ON CAN YOU FIX THIS??”

Mike, my assigned repair guide had the patience of a school teacher on the last day before summer break. He examined the kettle without once suggesting I should just buy another one (even though I already did).

I was shocked when his voltmeter showed the cord was functional. I was certain this whole debacle was punishment for all those times I left the fridge door open too long.

Mike pulled out tools that looked like they belonged in my dentist's office: drills, pliers, and magnifying glasses. We spent more time examining this appliance than I've spent examining my online purchase history.

Our investigation revealed the problem was inside the base, but we were thwarted by a set of rare three-grooved screws. "Manufacturers often use less common screws to discourage people from taking these items apart," Mike explained.

Foiled again by crapitalism.

I didn't leave with a fixed kettle, but I did learn what an "ohm" is (it's not just a word you say during yoga) and how “grounding” works (again, not just a yoga thing).

I was now on what Jonathan calls a "repair journey," which sounds much more dignified than "stubborn refusal to admit defeat to an inanimate object."

The Ordeal

When I returned home, I headed for my IKEA toolkit—usually reserved for haphazard home improvement projects— to unwind these rare screws.

I sat at my kitchen table wearing my camping headlamp in an attempt to dress the part: repair expert meets deranged miner.

I managed to unscrew the base, but came up against an intimidating system of coils, metal clips, and still smaller screws. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. This must be how members of a bomb squad feel when faced with a ticking explosive, afraid to snip the wrong wire.

I removed my headlamp in exasperation. Sometimes repair means bringing your broken kettle to someone more knowledgeable so as not to electrocute yourself. Luckily, I knew a guy.

The Return

Gavin peered over my kettle, furrowing his brow as I told him about my quest. The shock of my kettle’s untimely death, my guilt-ridden impulse purchase, my visit to the clinic, and my unsuccessful attempt to revive it.

“Let me poke around a bit and see what I find,” he said calmly.

If there was anyone able to bring this home, it was Gavin. He’s an electrical design consultant, which means he not only knows what a circuit board is, but designs them for all kinds of electronics.

Suddenly, Gavin’s eyes lit up. “There seems to be a problem with the metal part that turns the heating element on when you put the kettle on the base and off when you take it away,” he explained.

I stared blankly as Gavin tinkered with the kettle for a few more minutes, and eventually plugged it in. The water inside roared to a boil. I managed to save my beloved kettle, but I couldn’t have done it alone.

Jonathan’s work and other repair coaches’ aim to create a “culture of repair,” which means being open to learning about the devices under your care.

While I’m able to troubleshoot most of my problems hunched over my laptop in the dark, it’s nice to whip out my headlamp once in a while.

Tell me, dear reader, what are you willing to repair?

More Resources

• Find a Fixit Clinic or Repair Cafe in your area