Flinging the hydration thingy

Have you noticed how the most mundane products seem to have ‘user guides’ these days? And how useless they can sometimes be?

I bought a couple of relatively simple products this week. Case number one was a pair of sunglasses. I was fed up with my $20 pharmacy glasses breaking for some reason the moment I attempted to stuff them in my pocket. Rather than going GTboutique cheap to replace them, I went upmarket and bought a pair of $49 folding sunglasses in a crushproof container.

The user guide that came with this product told me, in text and a diagram, exactly how to fit and adjust them. It told me in one sentence what the product was designed to do; and said that if defects occurred, “we will replace the product.” Give them 9 out of 10 for a direct and simple document. (I once found a 10 out of 10 in a Roland piano instruction book: sly and witty, but of course, it was originally written in Italian, which explains everything.) Case number two was a different kettle of fish. I bought a “Thermos,” to keep cold water with me when I travel. Actually, my son-inlaw had picked it up for me the day before, so I hadn’t had the sales spiel. I was relying entirely on the user guide. But how complex can a water bottle be? I was about to find out.

The guide began by offering me “congratulations on the purchase of this Thermos product”— one of their “vacuum insulated stainless steel products.” Immediately, I felt a little uneasy. Did they know which particular product I had bought?

Next came the care and use instructions. There were six points, three of which began with a capitalized “DO NOT” warning. So I must NOT use abrasive cleaners, bleach or dishwashers. And I will be sure to wash the device before using it, removing the top before cleaning, and remembering that for maximum insulation efficiency, I should “preheat or prechill product just prior to use.” It then went on to tell me more bad news under the heading “caution.” I learned that I DO NOT microwave or overfill it, and must keep it out of the reach of children and remember to clean it. It then decided to tell me that “the hydration bottles are intended for use with cold liquids only: hot liquids can scald user.” But you just told me I can preheat it: which statement am I to believe?

When I went into the operating instructions proper, I found that they had different instructions for each of three types of vacuum insulated stainless steel products: “beverage bottles,” “tumbler models” and “hydration bottles.” I eliminated the first two after concluding the parts didn’t match the instructions. And it did say on the product label that it was a hydration bottle, so I placed my faith in the latter instructions. The user guide told me all I had to do was to push the button on the sipper lid to open the top. But I didn’t see a button. I could see a little blue thingy on the top of the lid, but I couldn’t make it do anything. It seemed to have no function at all.

By this point, was ready either to give the Thermos product, whatever it was, a demanding test of its fragility, or declare myself jinxed, cursed, hexed or stupid. I went back to the manual one more time, and this time read the “limited warranty” section. No help in functionality, of course, but the stark capital letters said: IN NO EVENT WILL THERMOS BE LIABLE FOR INCIDENTAL, CONSEQUENTIAL OR SPECIAL DAMAGES. This was like waving a red flag at a bull, since I knew that it probably wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. It felt like the company was saying “we know you’re going to complain about this product, but don’t blame us, we just make it.” And then to compound the insult, right after the capital letters, the following sentence appeared in lower case letters: “some states or provinces do not allow for exclusion of incidental, consequential or special damages, so the preceding exclusion may not apply to you.” In other words “X, but maybe not X.” Give me a break.

All in all, I rated the manual at 3 out 10. Maybe a 4, because the vessel is a neat colour.

Let’s take stock. If I purchase a home nuclear reactor kit, I expect to see a user guide. But if I purchase a coffee mug, do I need a user guide that tells us me I shouldn’t tip the hot coffee over babes in arms or stuff it in the blender. If I purchase a fork, I don’t expect to see a user guide telling me to keep it clean and to refrain from sticking it in someone’s derriere. In short, is there no room for common sense? And if you have to prepare a user guide, for goodness’ sake get to the point. Just tell me which product I have bought, tell me what it’s for, show me how to use it, explain how you stand behind it, and then shut up and skip the legal drivel.

After that rant, I’m ready for some hydration; but I think in this case I’ll just pour it straight from the bottle into a glass.

David Simmonds’s writing is also available at www.grubstreet.ca.