Defy the Wiper Blade/Industrial Complex!

The factory wiper arms/blades on my '09 GM vehicle do have a very convenient connection system (just press a square button and slide to remove--not sure what it's called) and a very aero/low profile. While some third-party blade makers are starting to include adapters for this wiper arm type, such adapters slide or clip on to the back of their "default" molded-in wiper connector, thus adding to the overall height of the wipers and making the arms stick out further from the windshield--not exactly conducive to preserving the factory aero look.

The blades themselves are a nicely designed affair that consists mainly of an extruded plastic channel made to flex "inward" past the curvature of a typical windshield, thus conforming to the windshield when pressure is applied by the wiper arm. In addition to the plastic channel, there are a couple of thin metal strips that sit inside the outer edges of the channel, and those strips form a narrow gap that the actual rubber wiper material slides into (using the "T"-shaped cross section furthest away from the wiping edge--There is another "T" cross closer to the wiping edge that is allowed to bend freely in the open air). There's also a couple of plastic end caps that hold it all together in conjunction with some snap-in metal pieces.

The good thing about this system is that A. it's a lot less complicated than the old "multiple layers of metal pieces forming a flexible pressure-transference system" (vulnerable to icing up in sub-zero temps) and B. it's relatively easy to hack in regard to replacing the rubber piece, even though it's not designed for such replacement. So when my wiper blades started to skitter on the upstroke (clearly from coming to rest after making a downstroke that bent them upward relative to the plane of the windshield), I took off the blades, removed the end caps with a bit of prying, and simply slid the rubber wiper material out one end and slid it back in the opposite direction before sticking the end caps back on. Unfortunately, the rubber in the blades, now bent downward, then skittered on the downstroke--equally annoying.

Aware that the original bend of the rubber edge was likely caused by a combination of the excessive heat of a Mid-American summer and the constant pressure the flexible rubber edge faces from the pressure of the blade arm pressing it down, I decided to fight fire with fire--using heat to bend the blade to a more neutral position between being flexed either direction.

My tool in this experiment was an old soldering iron. After removing the wiper blade from its arm, I took the hot soldering iron and pushed its edge (near the tip) quite forcefully against the rubber wiping piece in the direction opposite its now-distorted bend to one side, and rubbed it back and forth on that piece until it appeared to be straightening out. This is not a quick process--figure a couple of minutes minimum per blade. The rubber does emit some unpleasant smells, but nothing melts (unless you get too close to the plastic blade structure itself) and the soldering iron stays clean. Some sections of the rubber edge are particularly bent over and require almost ridiculous overcorrecting with heat and bending to spring back to a more neutral position. And I've noticed that beyond just a general rubbing and pushing of the iron's edge along the edge of the whole rubber piece, it helps to take the tip of the iron and push it into the edge between the metal stays and the first "T" edge of rubber sticking out from it while moving it back and forth. (In fact, the tip of the old iron had already had a channel cut into it with my Dremel for another project, and that helps keep it in place as it slides against the exposed edges of the rubber piece.)

The reward has been substantial: All the skittering the blades used to do in one direction or the other is gone. Now I can replace the blades only when the rubber actually stops wiping well--and I'm already scheming ways to automatically cut wiper blade rubber to create a fresh, clean, straight edge, too. It's time to defy the wiper blade arm/industrial complex! We will disrupt their devious plans to sell us new blades every year, and re-empower ourselves to get just as many fresh, clean, quiet wipes as we do in the privacy of our own bathrooms.

MaxBrushOff--The Shame of OfficeMax

Sometimes extended warranties pay off, but are you willing to pay the price in time and frustration?

Early last year, after returning the abominable Epson WorkFarce 1100 ("now with InstaClog (tm)") I had just purchased from Amazon, I went to the local OfficeMax and grabbed my first HP printer, the OfficeJet 7000.

My wife needs wide-format printing for her design studio, and large-format units with a reasonable price are rare. We weren't sure of what to expect from HP, but it turned out to be a good purchase. In fact, my review of the OfficeJet 7000 is now the top-rated favorable review of this particular model on Amazon. In short, if you're willing to pay for the ink, the OJ 7000 reliably puts ink on paper and has first-class four-color print quality (i.e.: not designed for photos, but great at graphics).

Printing is not an everyday task in my wife's studio, but when she needs output she tends to need a whole stack of pages, and client requests or prints for product prototyping won't wait. So I took the sales pitch for the extended warranty that OfficeMax offers, reassured that I could get my printer fixed or replaced within a three-year period . . . A fifty-dollar insurance policy.

A couple months ago, after a solid 18 months of reliable service, thousands of pages, and hundreds of dollars in ink, our loyal little HP began to act up. Specifically, my wife noted that the printer had difficulty ejecting pages properly to the output tray after printing (where before it had nearly shot the paper across the room), requiring her to grab the paper and pull it out.

The next phase was not just improper paper ejection after printing--It was the paper stopping its forward motion just before the page was done, causing ink to be laid down in one spot and ruining the whole print.

I dug out my original sales receipt and MaxAssurance information folder and realized I needed to "register" my purchase online merely to ask for help. The registration process on the MA site was a bit obtuse, but functional, and after getting through that I was asked to describe the problem, a precursor (I imagined) for getting someone on the phone or web chat to talk over the problem. Instead, it was a list of tech support articles / troubleshooting suggestions, none of which had anything to do with this particular model of printer.

When I responded to this presentation of suggestions with the interactive button labeled something like "Sorry, the problem still exists," I was given a reference number and asked to call the number shown on the MaxAssurance folder, which promised "a quick toll-free phone call" where "customer care reps are available to assist you 24/7."

First, there's nothing "quick" about calling MaxAssurance, or whatever third-party call center sweatshop represents this particular brand. After automated routines that ask you to enter (and confirm) your phone number, incident number, and navigate a prickly phone tree designed to peel off the inattentive, you finally get to talk to a first-tier functionary who laboriously and woodenly confirms everything you've just said, point by tedious point, as if writing it down on a clipboard with a carpenter's pencil.

After describing the issue that I had already documented in my initial registration process, I was shuttled off to another group which would ostensibly perform the actual troubleshooting.

After several minutes of holding, I was again asked to repeat and confirm everything I had already said, and a bland, equally wooden-sounding supposed technician took the line and suggested I "clean the printer's rollers." I had to admit that was worth a try (though he was sketchy on the specifics), but before dropping off the line I asked if there was any way to avoid repeating the entire phone-tree/call routing routine if the cleaning didn't work and I needed to call back. Surprisingly, he offered a 24-hour case number and special line that would get me through directly.

The call ended, I checked the OJ 7000's online manual and found a brief reference to cleaning the print rollers, but only the rollers at the back of the machine, that would seem to have very little to do with ejecting the paper. But they were a bit dusty, and--determined to give his suggestion a fair shake--I cleaned them.

For several days, the problem appeared to have faded away. Then it started again, and again I got on the MA website and logged in. After the perfunctory "have you tried these fixes?" scan, I hit the "Start web chat" button, which promptly popped up a window telling me web chat was closed for the day.

Back to phone: I again navigated the smarmy phone tree, entered/repeated/confirmed my information multiple times, and again talked to Miss Initial Screening before being transferred to Mr. Technical Answers. I will give this service credit for having easy-to-understand English speakers, but they seemed so bored and miserable in their roles that I felt sorry for them--and tried to keep my patter polite.

The call lasted about twenty minutes total, and included being put on hold multiple times, with distorted-sounding background music that almost seems designed to induce hang-ups. But Bored Mr. Tech finally came back on and informed me that his employer would not attempt to repair this device--They would simply issue a check for the original purchase price.

It was a positive outcome, particularly since I had expected a long-turnaround ship-in and repair process that would leave us printerless for weeks or months, another part of the typical service equation designed to make the average buyer say, "Oh, forget it. I'll just go buy another printer."

Anyway, the MaxAssurance warranty was probably worth it in this case, the difficulty of "filing a claim" notwithstanding.

After Mr. Tech told me that the check was on its way ("10-15 days"--You just can't rush these things when Frank the Accountant has to write them all by hand and ponies with mailbags must be dispatched), I thanked him, and politely told him I wanted to pass a comment on to his supervisor or manager. There was a pause during which he offered no acknowledgment of what I had just said, but I could hear him breathing so I forged ahead:

"I'm going to share my experience with MaxAssurance with my friends, family members, co-workers, and anyone else who stumbles across my consumer value blog. I'm not going to say bad things about the people who work at MaxAssurance, but I am going to share a factual account of the tedium, repetition, delays, obvious attempts to induce frustrated hang-ups, and generally lackluster treatment your organization markets as 'customer care' and a 'quick toll-free phone call.' Then other prospective MaxAssurance buyers can decide if they want to deal with the experience I've described, or tell the sales person, 'No, thanks, I've heard filing a claim is difficult.'"

Silence. "Are you still there?" I asked. Pause. Then with immense weariness: "Yes." He made no attempt at justification, damage control, or even polite acknowledgement. I could almost imagine him thinking, "I know, you annoying !$#%--and I hear what you're saying a dozen times a day. But I am spiritless and broken and paying $1100 for a one-bedroom apartment in Pasadena and now she's bringing her kid to live with us and I simply have to keep this !#@$ job."

"Do you need any more information from me?" I asked. "No." "Alright, thank you very much!" Then, with no further comment from Depressed Mr. Tech, the line went dead.

There's a tech support worker in a photo on the MaxAssurance brochure. She smiles cheerfully from behind her headset, fingers poised on the keyboard in front of her flat-panel display, ready to help untangle your knottiest customer service issue. In the background of her light and airy room is a potted plant.

Somehow, I suspect the people I talked to don't work in that room.

Hain-Celestial: Form Letter, but Possibly Worthwhile

In response to my note complaining of porky-tasting tofu dogs, Hain-Celestial (maker of Yves products) has responded with a considerate (if automated) offer of a "product coupon" in the mail. Whether this is for fifty cents off or the cost of a replacement product, I can't yet be sure. 

I wish they would have written back sooner, but at least they're acknowledging my contact and I may be able to recoup my investment with a coupon I can use for one of their other products called "Good Dogs," which--as a vegetarian--I heartily recommend. They're not quite as good as Worthington's Veja-Links (a classic from my childhood, but hard to find locally), but for a quick veggie-friendly meal, they'll do.

Here's the form letter I got, which labors under the assumption that the problem stems from some manufacturing issue, which I had preemptively assured them it did not:

Thank you for taking the time to contact us regarding your recent experience with our Yves' Veggie Cuisine Tofu Dogs 12 oz.. Please accept our apologies for the delay in our reply.

Quality is very important to us. We strive to manufacture the very finest natural products and we are always interested in hearing from you when our products do not meet your expectations. We trust that you will be completely satisfied with our products in the future. Again, we thank you for reporting this issue.

Your specific experience has been reported to our Quality Assurance Team.

In appreciation of the time you took to contact us, we have mailed a product coupon to the address provided in your original email. Please allow 10 business days for first class US mail delivery.

If you still have the product packaging in your possession, we ask that you include the "best by" date code, including any letters or numbers that follow it, as well as the UPC code - the numbers below the bar code.

As one of our valued customers, your satisfaction is very important to us and we will share your comments with our Leadership Team. If we can be of further assistance, please feel free to contact us at 1-800-434-4246, Monday through Friday from 7AM - 5PM Mountain Time.


Julia
Consumer Relations Representative

Obituary for a Reliable Friend

The eValue-ator does more than identify problems with products. Some basic consumer products deserve kudos, and the simple paper cup I call "Golden Boy" inspired me to write this piece for the amusement of a co-worker after the cup she helped me to acquire disappeared under frankly predictable circumstances some time ago.

"Golden Boy," the distinguished dual-wall paper Dixie cup residing in the cubicle of Tom Seibold, has passed away.

The cause of death is believed to be meddlesome cleaning crews known to prowl the third-floor hallways of the Marketing Department at Company Name's [city name] headquarters.

"It's all my fault," said Golden Boy owner Tom Seibold, product marketing manager, tea fan, and resident of the area. "For nearly four months I made it a point to put Golden Boy up in a storage cabinet in my cubicle at the end of each workday, knowing full well the enthusiasm of cleaning crews to mess around with crap on our desk that they should just leave alone. Last night, I simply forgot."

Seibold acquired Golden Boy--then known as "Fresh White"--through the Michele Jay food accessory adoption agency, whose longtime connections to the overpopulated dual-wall-cup region known as "Hedge House" allowed her to secure a supply of the cups long after they had run out in the headquarters building. Seibold continues to provide regular donations of chocolate to Jay in gratitude for her services.

Legally known as "Insulair EcoSmart (TWC16V) by Dixie Consumer Products LLC," Fresh White eventually became Golden Boy after months of selfless service--uncomplainingly containing boiling hot fluids infused with stain-inducing antioxidant-rich tea compounds known as tannins. "Three, four, five cups of tea a day was never too much to ask of Golden Boy," says Seibold. "When emptied, he was always ready for a refill. Although his interior color eventually changed from white to a splotchy golden brown, I considered this aging process a badge of honor, and I defended Golden Boy from all who would question his cleanliness, judge his fitness based on the wear and tear of daily service, or--worst of all--consider him over the hill, used up, or ready for the landfill."

"In fact, Golden Boy lived to make room for lesser cups in landfills," said Seibold. "Whether warming me on cold mornings or tagging along to boring 9 a.m. meetings, his sturdy double-wall construction and well-waxed interior made him hold up well even after four months of service. If anything, he seemed to be getting more reliable over time." Seibold said he especially appreciated GB's unique two-layer construction that not only provided comfort-enhancing insulation but supplied a convenient top-rim slit in which to tuck tea bag tags.

"A lot of people--as well as so-called 'biodegradable' or 'compostable' cups--talk about 'Going Green,'" said Seibold, "But Golden Boy and his tireless service over months of heavy use were the very embodiment of sustainable consumption. He truly was "EcoSmart" as his birth-name suggested. If only I had paid more attention to him, still sitting there doing his job before I packed up my stuff last night, he would still be on duty today. I can only hope that the trash truck that ultimately picked him up from the company dumpster crushes him quickly, because his greatest dream once reaching an age where he could no longer hold his fluids would have been to get sent to a recycling center and emerge as a cardboard box of pricey health-food store teabags labeled 'contains 35% post-consumer waste.' He just loved the beverage industry."

One of Golden Boy's identical siblings from the closely guarded cache of Insulair EcoSmart (TWC16V) cups originally provided by Jay will now take over Golden Boy's duties. A spokesman for Dixie Consumer Products LLC commends the durability of their products but recommends that other consumers change to fresher cups--for unspecified reasons--more frequently than Seibold does. "We hope office workers grab a new Dixie cup every time they pour a new drink," said a company spokesman. "How can that possibly be bad for the environment if the name of the actual product is 'EcoSmart'?"

Porky Tofu Dogs

Letter to Yves Veggie Cuisine, a division (or brand) of Hains Celestial.

Dear Yves:

I have purchased several packages of Yves Good Dogs and liked them pretty well. Then my wife accidentally bought your Tofu Dogs. I was hesitant, but in the mood for a veggie dog, so I gave them a try.

Unfortunately, I tried one and didn't like the taste, so I threw out the rest. I don't think there's anything wrong with the product--It's not old or manufactured incorrectly--It just has what I'll call a "porky" taste that the Good Dogs do not. And I don't like porky flavors.

I would have felt dumb taking the opened package of Tofu Dogs back to the grocery store and saying "refund my $3.97," because it's not their fault and it's really just a matter of not liking a product's flavor. So I decided to drop you a line instead, and see what you would say.

Thanks.

The eValue-ator

Jeld-Wen: "Reliability for Real Life"? Or "Torment in a Hot Place"?

No doubt about it, some windows in our 1939 house needed replacement. My friend, professional contractor Mike, took a look and said, "Let's head to Home Depot and order you some new ones."

Mike is the kind of guy who moves fast. I am not. I sometimes immerse myself in research for days, weeks, or even years before pulling the trigger on a big purchase like windows. But I've always been inspired by Mike's "Git 'er done" mentality and tried to go with the flow. We walked right into Home Depot, looked at some sample windows, and decided to go with the Tradition Plus double-hung clad windows from Jeld-Wen, complete with tilt-in cleaning and what I'll call "snap-in grilles" to preserve the traditional look of our home.

How many times since then have I wish I'd shopped around a little more.

After the windows arrived, Mike installed them, and–from the moment he showed them to me–he said the "snap-in" grilles gave him trouble. I thought maybe he had just rushed things, or failed to read the directions. But over time I found his skepticism was well-founded.

As the years passed, I found that the main tradition I came to associate with my Tradition Plus windows was dreading my interactions with them.

From the start, it was more than just the windows grilles that caused headaches.

For example, the upper sash can be lowered but is always difficult to raise. Specifically: After you pull the upper sash downward, then attempt to raise it back up, one or both of the small "lifting clips" (not the actual name) in the "window edge channel" (again, not the official "window guy" name), that are apparently intended to hold the sash in a desired position when it's lowered (or raised, in the case of the lower sash), simply don't move with the sash--they are "stuck" in the spot where they were when the window was lowered, and they're not going anywhere even though you lifted the sash and they're supposed to slide up with it and hold it up.

Usually it's just one lifting clip, but the one that moved up with the window--which is attached to some sort of string that provides upward force for the window--doesn't have sufficient holding power by itself to keep the window up by itself, so the sash lists to one side in the window frame, instead of snugging up tightly to the top of the frame.

Through experimentation, I found that pushing the bottom of the top window sash outward in the direction of the outside house wall–hard–while lifting the window up, would somehow "grab" the lifting clips and force them to make the upward journey with the bottom of the window. This, however, is not easy, because–to apply sufficient outward pressure–you basically have to lift the bottom sash up a few inches and tilt it in, and then balance that leaning bottom sash against your chest or belly (or have someone hold it for you) while you push hard against the bottom of the top sash while sliding it up. Quite a workout!

But the truth is that even this annoyance was small–and surmountable through proper technique–compared to the Tradition Plus's diabolical snap-in (aka: "pin in / fall out") window grilles.

As the video below shows, the real problem with the TP window grille is its inherently poor design. The following factors all add up to make a reliable fit of the window grilles in this window an impossibility:

1. The clear plastic piece, with the point of a stick pin molded in the end of it, enters the trim around the window sash's frame (Sorry, all you window experts in the audience--I don't have all the exact terms here) at a point where that trim is sloped "uphill" (relative to the surface of the glass), and the pin therefore wants to slide "up the hill."
2. By the time the pin reaches the top of the "hill" referred to in the previous step (and hits the tiny ridge at the top of that hill), it can't go very far in, because the clear plastic piece holding the pin has hit its maximum travel position and its plastic body has hit the trim itself. In other words, the pin is just barely long enough to penetrate the ridge at the "top" (again, relative to the surface of the glass) of that sloped trim edge.
3. The channel cut into the end of each stick that makes up the grille is too wide for the plastic-with-pin piece that slides in it. This makes it loose and wobbly even if you've forced the pin into the trim as "low on the hill" as possible. Which is difficult, because:
4. The pin itself is so thick and bulky that it's difficult to push into wood, even if you could overcome the factors conspiring against you as listed above.

I have enjoyed the tilt-in feature of the Jeld-Wens for ease of window cleaning, but with each grille remove/replace cycle, the grilles seemed to fit worse and fall out more easily. I have pushed, I have prodded, I applied heavy-duty elbow grease to make the pins holding the grilles stay in, but nothing has worked. Some days I come home and find that one of the grilles on the lower sash had simply fallen out on the window stoop, and has only been saved from a trip all the way to the floor by the cafe curtains.

After five years of cursing the darkness of Jeld-Wen's poor entry-level grille design, I decided to take action and contact their customer support department. A polite gentleman, though defensive about the quality of these grilles, sent me a sample of an upgraded style of "full-frame" grilles that truly do snap in. And from the moment I took it out of the packaging and snapped it in, I knew my Jeld-Wen entry-level grille nightmare was nearly over. I plan to someday have these upgraded grilles in every window. And then we can start talking about why the top sash randomly falls down, or lists to one side because those "lifting clips" don't work reliably.

A picture is worth a thousand words, so perhaps a moving picture of Jeld-Wen's "window grilles from the place of eternal torment" will give you pause before you ever order windows without the top-of-the-line snap-in grille option that's offered.

I am sharing this video with the customer support folks I talked to at Jeld-Wen--who politely sent me a sample version of an upgraded window grille which can also be seen in the video. These better grilles are not cheap, and I am hoping Jeld-Wen will see the value in providing some adjustment in price for the remaining replacement grilles, based on what I already paid for the original, flimsy, fall-out grilles.

At this time, the video is hosted as an unlisted video on YouTube. Jeld-Wen's response will write the final chapter of this story on my blog.

Hot Medical Chat: $11 a Minute!

Billing Manager

Shawnee Mission Physicians Group

Georgetown Family Care

7301 Frontage Road, Suite 100

Shawnee Mission, KS  66204

July 21, 2011

Dear Shawnee Mission Physicians Group:

I recently received a bill from your Chicago-based medical billing service for the amount of $88.13 for the June 7 consultation I had with Dr. Buss.

Let’s set aside for a moment the fantasical retail price of $173 mentioned on the bill, as well as the existence of the equally made-up $60 “discount” by which being covered by Cigna health plan supposedly lowers that literally incredible starting price that no one actually pays. That still means my ten-minute chat with Dr. Buss now has me on the hook for my original co-pay of $25 PLUS an additional $88.13!

I understand that running a medical facility in a country with the “best healthcare system in the world” (for now, at least) is not cheap. I realize you have expenses to cover, utilities, insurance, salaries, etc. I know there are non-paying patients you still have to cover, that those of us who have money and insurance are ultimately subsidizing. I appreciate the education, experience, and personalized care that Dr. Buss and your other physicians provide. But $113 for ten minutes of talk? Wow!

We all know that the costs of healthcare in the US—thanks to the removal of market forces that once directly connected consumers and suppliers of such services, and the domination of payment by third-party payers—have become completely unmoored from reality. But retailing a ten-minute consultation for $173 and sticking the patient with $113 of that amount enters us all into a new realm of out-of-touch medical pricing and breathtakingly audacious opportunism.

I am not writing because I don’t have the money or can’t pay the bill. I am writing because I want to send a small but direct message to those I encounter in the medical supply chain that some of us won’t simply roll over and accept having to pay ridiculous amounts like this. And I want to urge those of you who are members of both the medical management and physician communities to take whatever steps you can to reform the system along market-based, consumer-driven lines outlined by the Cato Institute, rather than the top-down control-and-command socialized-bureaucracy model we are surely as a nation slipping into.

We are a family that pays its bills, recognizes the cost of receiving first-class service, and wants those we do business with to prosper. We don’t go around expecting freebies. But we do watch our spending and didn’t get to a position of modest financial security by throwing our money away. The additional $88 you are requesting for my ten-minute office visit represents a week of groceries for our family, and I’m not going to simply write a check like that without reminding you that behind your charts and tables and spreadsheets of billing formulas are real people—not just faceless bureaucrats in an insurance company or a government reimbursement office.

I am willing to send you a check for an additional $25, bringing the total payment for my ten-minute visit to $50. If you insist on collecting the other $63, I guess our next encounter will be in collections—or, once we start avoiding coming in to ask the doctor about everyday concerns because of its astronomical price—the emergency room.

If you agree, I would appreciate you officially making the adjustment and sending a new invoice.

I am sharing this letter electronically with my friends and family, and it will be on my consumer advocacy blog for anyone searching the internet for “Shawnee Mission, “Shawnee Mission Physicians Group” or “Georgetown Family Care” to find. Your response (or non-response) can write the final chapter of this story however you want it to be, and I will share your response with my friends, family members, and blog readers.

Nothing about this letter should be read as dissatisfaction with the care I receive at Shawnee Mission’s facilities, or the physicians of Georgetown. But it is a means of illustrating how out of touch our third-party-payer-driven system has become not just in regard to the cost of sophisticated, expensive-to-develop pharmaceuticals and complex diagnostic procedures—but even the delivery of a simple, ten-minute consultation.

Respectfully yours,

The eValue-ator

[real name / real address]

cc: Dr. Matthew Buss

The Amazing Color-Blending Rug

Note submitted to the Dash & Albert Rug Company website

While traveling in Maine a few months ago, we found a store that carried your beautiful cotton rugs and we picked up a 2 x 3 in a stripe pattern for our bathroom.

Yesterday, we decided to hand-wash it in cold water, according to the instruction tag, and simply getting it wet in this manner caused all the dyes to spread and the whole thing now has a dingy, monotone appearance. We might as well throw it away because it just looks awful.

Yes, the tag also states that professional cleaning is recommended, but we had no idea that simply getting it wet (a condition common to bathrooms, kitchens, and possibly entryways) would cause all the dyes to release and spread.

Unfortunately, we live in the Midwest, far from the store where we purchased this product. And, besides, we don't really feel it's the store's fault, anyway.

Although this rug is essentially ruined, we're not going to yell and scream and chew you out--We just wanted to make you aware of this problem so you can make changes to the product's dyes or product label ("Do NOT machine wash or HAND WASH!") so this doesn't happen to anyone else in the future. We realize that dyes in natural fibers often fade over time, but the suddenness and completeness of the dye release on this product was something we have never seen before.

Your designs are beautiful. We only wish the one we spent good money on was more practical for daily life.

Sincerely,

The eValue-ator