Manufacturing Idiots

It is truly puzzling why there is such a vast array of lunacy in corporate boardrooms. After all, aren’t these people supposed to be top notch in their particular field? The person or persons who suggested the following ideas to their corporate officers are infamous examples that spring to mind. “We can use the top of the Empire State Building to moor the Hindenberg.” “Are you certain that this is the correct specification for grinding the Hubble Space Telescope’s mirror? It won’t make it myopic?” “The twit at Passap stating that any knitter can easily replace a broken part themselves, without intervention by an expert!”

Please, do not misunderstand. The Passap has been brilliantly designed and consummately engineered. However, the tiniest modicum of common sense is all any of us ask. Apparently, even that, is tantamount to a corporate coup. When “Miss P” decides to perform, it is an absolute joy to knit. When she gets set in her detrimental temperament, tracking down the specific cause of this unsightly macramé is 1,000 times worse than discovering why the G-Carriage abruptly decides to randomly drop stitches.

All of us have known for years that knitting machines are very human. No one can convince us that our machines do not have personality quirks, nor minds of their own. Instinctively, they know when our knitting time is far, too, short. They also know the precise moment of that hateful deadline. When we have been busily knitting quietly, we have experienced our knitting machines becoming bored; thus, requiring attention. They let us know they need pampering by a unique, imperceptible system of their own devise. This simple system is intrinsic to all brands. It is based upon a rather beastly concept, spread contagiously, by all 2-year-olds. When silence is worth $60,000.00 a minute, the machines demand and get satisfaction by forcing the heretofore docile, benign knitter into using language that would make a crusty sailor blush.

Most of us, by now, are so familiar with their equipment that servicing the machine is not a daunting task. The basic parts of a machine are common. Therefore, one can easily assume that replacing a damaged part is a simple method of reverse engineering. We must first figure out how to dismantle only the necessary items to restore the damage. We are led to this conclusion because the necessary part is gladly sold by the dealer. If it cannot be replaced by the individual knitter, it should not be permitted to be purchased. Here, Passap ignores the bliss of common sense. The dealers, as well as the knitters, are shockingly unaware of this oversight.

Happily knitting only 2-color jacquard, I had no notion that the #3 yarn eyelet holder was damaged. The first attempt at knitting 4-color jacquard brought this instantly to my attention. With an astounding THWANG, the antenna smacked into the wall behind the Passap, causing a startled shriek from me. It was quite apparent that “Miss P” had a problem requiring immediate attention.

Of course, the first item to check is the reason the antenna whipped into the wall. This was brutally apparent when the eyelet holder was noticed dangling from the yarn, not in either of it’s proper positions, inside the jaws of the locks (carriage), or resting in the color changer. Repositioning the eyelet is normally a simple process. This time, it was much more difficult.

There are two pieces of plastic restraining the eyelet. These are located at the top and the bottom. While attempting to reposition the eyelet, it was noticed that the bottom restraint was missing, making further knitting impossible. The next morning, a visit to our dealer was first on the agenda.

Completely satisfied with the purchase, reconstructive surgery on “Miss P” began. It must be noted that I paid very little attention when a Passap consult unpacked and set up all the machinery. I marveled that it took both of us nearly 3 hours to get it working. After only 45 minutes, I had screws, nuts, and various miscellaneous parts strewn over the worktable. Luckily, these were laid out in the precise position of removal for easier reassembly. (I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. It’s been at least 10 minutes!) After finally getting the housing removed, the new eyelet holder was now ready for installation.

The eyelet holder is shaped like the letter “J”. At the bottom of the “J”, there is a hole, which allows a rod to be threaded through it. Unfortunately, this rod cannot be removed by the knitter. It requires special skills, tools, an act of God, or Congress in order to get this device removed. Completely frustrated, on the verge of murder, “Miss P’s” color changer was returned to it’s original broken status.

Back on the phone with my dealer, it was learned that the repairman was, naturally, home; sick with the flu. This didn’t assuage my desires to get “Miss P” back on her feet. Woefully, I trudged the color changer to the shop, while, praying to the knitting Gods to have mercy. My prayers were gratefully answered. I was truly amazed that the cost of the repair did not require placing Grandma-on-deposit as is frequently the case.

Now that “Miss P” is purring, again, my thoughts have drifted toward a couple of other mysteries. Why does the reader card sometimes work, and other times create an unwanted headache? How difficult is it to change the tension disk on the mast containing the electronic cable? As far as we can determine, the back lock (carriage) is permanently attached to the cable, which is permanently attached to the mast, which is also permanently attached to the yarn guide, which is, naturally, permanently attached to the tension disk. Wouldn’t you know that the tension disk is sold as a “replacement” part, too.