The Scooter That Owned Me

There is an old adage about ownership that goes something like this: you do not own your things, your things own you.

I always thought that was a cute little bit of wisdom. The kind of thing you nod along to and then forget. Well, this year I learned exactly what it means, and it came in the form of two electric scooters.

Last Christmas, I bought my two sons a pair of matching electric scooters. They were thrilled. They rode those things all over the neighborhood, and for a few months it was one of the best gifts I have ever given.

Then March happened. One of the scooters threw an error code on the display and simply stopped working. This expensive, barely used toy was now a very heavy paperweight.

I will spare you the full saga, because you already know the drift. Warranty website, proof of purchase, a video of the error, a serial number. A replacement part promised for early April that did not show. Follow-ups that went unanswered. Months of back and forth, a couple of wrong parts in the mail, and a lot of taking the thing apart and putting it back together on my kitchen table.

Eventually I stopped waiting on the warranty team and did what I should have done sooner. I got on Google, traced the problem to the controller board, confirmed it by swapping boards between the two scooters, and ordered a new one straight from the company for about $60. It worked. Two functioning scooters again, repaired with $60 of my own money on a machine that was practically brand new and still under warranty.

So did I win? Technically, yes. Dad saves the day.

But here is the part that never shows up on any invoice.

When I add it all up, I sank around 20 hours into this thing. Taking it apart, snapping photos, writing emails, waiting on parts, testing theories. That $60 repair was not really a $60 repair. The real cost was the opportunity cost, time pulled straight out of my weekends and away from my family, all summer long. And the whole time, not having the scooter working really bothered my son. His friends all had theirs, it was prime scooter weather, and he was stuck watching from the driveway.

I did my research. I thought I bought a reliable scooter. I did everything a careful buyer is supposed to do, and it still turned into a months-long project that cost me my time, my effort, and a chunk of my summer.

Sometimes our purchases really do own us. They own our time and our attention, quietly, long after the excitement of unwrapping them fades.

I do not regret giving my boys a gift they loved. But I will be walking into my next big purchase with my eyes wide open, asking not just what it costs, but what it might end up costing me.