Life Sucks, and It's Great!

Yes, that's my vacuum cleaner. Why am I posting a blog entry about this mundane, everyday appliance? Well, I'll tell you. My vacuum cleaner has not sucked in a long time. I'd run it over the carpet and it stubborly refused to pick anything up. Dirt openly mocked my vacuum cleaner. I could hear its jeers over the sound of the suckless motor. Little strings would yell, "Ha! I'm still here!" as I took swipe after pointless swipe over and over and over. Finally, I'd bend, pick up the string, and throw it away - over and over and over and over. I'm embarassed to admit how long this has been going on. Let's just say that I considered calling Mike Rowe to come over and film an episode of "Dirty Jobs."

Today was a beautiful sunny day, Day 3 of grading blue books. I'd arranged the exams in stacks on the floor, organized by class. As I looked at the remaining stacks to grade, I also took note of the noticeable debris on my carpet. "That's it!" I cried, "I've had it with all this crap all over my floor! I'm going to take care of this right now!" (Savvy readers will note that my concern about this months-old problem reached a fever pitch as I looked at blue books to grade. Still, I'm sure that my concern was not at all related to grading avoidance behavior. Nope. Not at all.)

I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and was out the door to the repair shop. I was pretty sure that the problem would be easy to fix. I was convinced that if I had one of them handy men around the house, he'd have it diagonosed and fixed in no time. Well, OK, it would take some time, once I factor in the inevitable long-winded explanation about the problem - including how I caused the problem by simply using the vacuum cleaner for its intended purpose, then the 4-5 trips to the hardware store to get the correct belt or hose, then finally - the inevitable break to watch whatever sporting event is on.

I bypassed all of this by exercising my right as a single woman to spend my perfectly good money to pay someone to fix my vacuum. I was right - it was an easy fix. Took all of 30 seconds for the repairman to determine the diagnosis. The vacuum needed a new belt and filter. The kindly repairman restored my faith in all repairmen by not making me feel like a complete moron loser. He simply charged me for the repair and held the door open for me as I left.

I loaded the vacuum in the trunk and started the car. I actually felt my pulse quicken. I was going to go home and clean my carpets! I'm embarrassed to admit how excited I was. When I got home, I parked the car, carried the vacuum up the 3 flights of stairs and immediately plugged it in. It roared to life - light shining, ready to make up for all those months of incompetence, ready to show that dirt a thing or two about sucking. As I steered the vacuum around the room, it sang. OK, not literally, but it did hum. And it sucked. Man, did it suck.

Soon, all the carpets were clean. Even the carpet under the dining room table. Even the carpet under my dresser. Clean, clean, clean. I did something I never do - I walked barefoot through my apartment, just to feel the clean carpet between my toes. I'd include a picture of the vacuum's accomplishment, but it's just too gross. I can't believe that I lived so long with that level of grossness. I was so inspired that I moved on to the bathroom and cleaned it, too. I'm pretty sure there's medication to help with the unnatural euphoria that I feel.

Got the laundry done, too. Tomorrow, I think I'll dust. Oh, and I made it through the penultimate class of blue books, in case you're wondering.