Before Heather and I could figure out what was going on with the washer, her parents Phil and Linda and my sister Tanya respectively drove and flew in for our wedding. We were married and then my sister and I took off to Connecticut, where I was scheduled to deliver a keynote at a conference, and Heather and her mom and dad turned their attention to what was really important-- the washer.
They leveled the beast, and leveled it again, and leveled it again. No dice. It still shook like a rabid dog. Thinking that perhaps the floor needed bracing, they purchased a 3/4" sheet of plywood and screwed it to the floor. No dice. At the end of a fruitless day they retired to lick their wounds.
When I was back at the house I watched Linda and Phil spend another half-day trying to get the washer to work-- with no luck. I was sitting nearby trying to stay out of the action because, darn, they were so serious and I didn't want to be in the line of fire, but finally I thought, "I wonder if the idiots who delivered the appliances took out the restraining bolts?"
I ventured as much, and we immediately looked behind the washer. There were three big bolts, but they had clips on them to hold wires, so maybe they weren't the restraining bolts-- but then again, maybe they were.
Within seconds Linda and I were Goggling Samsung washer restraining bolts. Finally I found an image and yes, those were the restraining bolts. Phil removed them and we started the washer and, happily, it no longer shook.
When Heather got home from work and we told her the washer was working she was delighted, and remained so until she broke the dryer.
No-- she didn't!
Yes, she did.
No-- she didn't!
Yes, she did.
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