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Instead of throwing away broken, torn, and otherwise unusable items, people line up at local repair clinics with the hope of rescuing their things. Our columnist joined them on a recent Saturday morning and found a community of volunteers committed to helping others — and the planet we share.
My dad can fix anything. I know—brag! But it’s true: Software engineer by day and tireless handyman off the clock, he has always tiled, patched, wired, plumbed, and repaired whatever needed fixing at home. He once built an entire car out of parts, this man, and he did it all before YouTube was a thing. Can you even? Do you have a parent like this? Are you one?
If so, then you’d be a great candidate to volunteer at your local Fix-it Clinic, if you’re lucky enough to have one near you (and if you don’t, maybe your city would be interested in hosting a similar opportunity).
Why the Fix-It Clinic?
My dad did his best to teach my siblings and me how to solve our own problems, but we have our limits. What if you don’t have that parent, that neighbor, that friend, or that meddlesome kid with a screwdriver and a knack for problem-solving? Are you supposed to stand on the curb and wait for the tinker’s cart and horse to pass by?
What do you do when you have a mostly-good-but-not-quite-functional keyboard, say, with a sticky “e,” or an iron whose cord was partially chewed through by your pet rabbit? It’s mighty tempting to put these misfits out to pasture. (The stuff, not the rabbit. I’m not a monster.) Maybe you put them on top of the garbage bin, as if your reluctance to trash them is enough to redeem you. Maybe you tell yourself someone else will rescue them. Sure, these may be fixable, but not by you! I hope it’s obvious I’m talking to myself here.
When you’ve exhausted YouTube and your own rusty tool set, isn’t it good to know there are people tenacious enough to solve problems and generous enough to solve yours? Also, am I the only one who leaves tools out overnight?
Solutions-Oriented Klutz Seeks Expert Problem-Solver
Standing in line outside my city’s Fix-It Clinic on a recent October Saturday, my thoughts turned to that thing Tolstoy said — something about how every broken toaster is broken in its own way — and I was tempted to sneak a peek inside before my turn. How many volunteer experts had committed their time to fixing our stuff? A lot, I hoped. From the looks of the growing line, we would need a good mix of professionals with an impressive range of skills.
Each patron was allowed to bring one item for repair, and many people had. There was me, with my low-performing hairdryer, and my daughter, who patiently gripped the handle of her portable record player in hopes of getting the turntable turning again. There were several women with vacuum cleaners of wide-ranging vintage, including one model that may have been a Hoover-era hoover. I saw a microwave oven, an ’80s era boombox, and a slide projector, all in line with their hopeful owners. Some people had brought clothes needing new buttons, patches, or hems. And wait, there’s more.
Bikes Too?!?
Many years ago, when we moved out of the big city and bought our first car together, I joked to my husband that I am “used car people,” and that our motto is: “Smash it up, bash it up, waaaaay up.” He laughed at the time, but I am serious about testing the limits of vehicles, including my bike, Our Lady of the Perpetual Flat Tire.
Yes, the Fix-It Clinic offered bike repair, too! (Talking about this is getting me very pumped up, can you tell? It was just so cool.) Local bike repairists (repairers?) donated their time and expertise to mobilizing those of us who would otherwise be reliant on motor vehicles or our own feet to get around. In a city as bike-friendly as mine, a broken bike is a major downer, and a free repair feels like an anonymous valentine. For me? You don’t even know me! Xoxo
Ring the Bell
The first happy patron of the morning walked out of the clinic with a newly functional vacuum — success! — and the organizing staff urged her to ring the bell they’d installed for this purpose. Ring it like a prize winner, they said, and she did. I was excited for her the way I was excited when my husband’s eyes got lasered. It worked! You can see!
I wasn’t the only one feeling the vibe; each peal of that bell may as well have announced a sweepstakes winner. Energy rippled through the line, and I wanted to run home and bring my bike back, along with a torn sleeping bag and an unreliable flashlight. My admiration and confidence in these experts’ skills knew no bounds. Maybe I could try to sneak my overzealous terrier in for some solutions to our barking problem. Could they maybe do something about my sophomore year report card?
As we waited, we got to chatting, as neighbors do when the sun is out and the news is good and the bike pedals are well oiled. From one organizing volunteer I learned that:
- The event was a new venture launched by the city in partnership with several organizations, including Algalita, the Long Beach-based nonprofit that works to end plastic pollution, and Zero Waste San Diego, among others.
- Nearly everyone involved was a volunteer, donating their time and expertise for the love of community and the Earth we share, and in some cases to showcase cottage businesses. Who doesn’t want a local tailor on call?
Standing in line outside my city’s Fix-It Clinic on a recent October Saturday, my thoughts turned to that thing Tolstoy said — something about how every broken toaster is broken in its own way — and I was tempted to sneak a peek inside before my turn. How many volunteer experts had committed their time to fixing our stuff? A lot, I hoped. From the looks of the growing line, we would need a good mix of professionals with an impressive range of skills.
My new volunteer friend said she and her husband throw almost nothing away, opting whenever possible to repair or reuse. I loved her resourceful spirit, especially since learning from a recent LB Recycles webinar that the average person discards six pounds of waste every day, a sobering number that increases 25% during the holidays.
Fixable or Flimsy?
When it was our turn, our expert opened my daughter’s record player and showed us which parts made the disk go ‘round and how everything worked in balance to keep the needle from scratching the record.
He wasn’t able to fix my hairdryer, but I take the blame for that, having bought a low-quality item that promised to break and then followed through on its promise; I’ll think twice before I buy the next cheap new thing. Still, my daughter and I had fun watching him crack open its plastic body to reveal the wiry guts inside.
This was the last clinic of the year, but organizers hope to bring it back early next year and quarterly thereafter, depending on demand. One thing I can predict, if my penchant for entropy holds, is that I will be back too.
