|Espresso Machine, Just Out of Warranty, On the Operating Table|
At first, I begged him not to touch it. Visions of, well, what you see pictured above, tormented my imagination, and the machine's manual warned us in big, bold type: THIS MACHINE CONTAINS NO USER SERVICEABLE PARTS. I had a vague fear that Bernie would come up with some kind of MacGyver solution involving duct tape and a plyers hanging out of the side of the machine. However, preliminary research uncovered the stark and ugly facts: This espresso machine was manufactured in Australia, and sold to me by an internet company out of Rochester, NY. It weighs as much as Anders. It is no longer under warranty, I did not save the original shipping carton, and even if I had, it would cost a fortune just in shipping to send my espresso machine to wherever the nearest authorized service center might be located, and it would take a small eternity to get it back again. Reluctantly, worn down by caffeine deprivation and despair, I conceded and authorized Bernie to commence amateur exploratory surgery yesterday afternoon.
My husband ripped off the sides of the machine, poked around in its mechanical guts, and determined that the heating element had gone bad. He read through Internet espresso fanatic forums frequented by hard core coffee afficionados, and informed me that my machine's problem was "pretty common." He briefly considered scouting around for something "that might work" from Lowe's or Home Depot, but when the smoke started pouring out of my ears and my eyeballs burned fiery red he reconsidered and promised to find actual espresso machine parts.
So here we are, Monday morning, and Bernie just got off the phone with the tech support department at Whole Latte Love, where I purchased my machine. The good news is that it is possible to order a $75 replacement part to make my machine whole again. The bad news is that the part is backordered until the end of the month. Seriously?! No lattes until April? I'll be driving to Starbucks in my nightgown and bathrobe every morning at the break of dawn, before waking up the kids. Don't you dare judge me, either -- that's why they have a drive-through!