The last thing I want to do on any day is vacuum the house, or anything else for that matter. Just the act of running the thing around on the floors is a pain the ass, but the prep work can be even more brutal and sometimes proves to be the most arduous and time consuming. The prep work can also be costly if not attended to. I learned this the other day when I decided to clean the house again for the fourth time in one week. At the time, I thought I had the floors all clear and ready for a thorough vacuuming, but little did I know there was an enemy waiting for me to slip up. To my discomfort, it would prove to be an enemy which would strike when I was at my weakest and most vulnerable position, and then attack with a vengeance.
My enemy came in the form of a small black nylon sock which was lurking under the corner of our bed. I was moseying along like there was no tomorrow, when suddenly, the vacuum jerked a bit and then dug in. I stalled. Then, there was a terrible whirring sound which increased its shrill even after I had thrown the once trusty power switch on my Hoover fold-up bagless. I winced. Like a smack in the face, a mass of the worst smelling smoke poured out from under its wheels and filled the entire house with the nastiest smell of chemical burnt rubber and I don't know what else. My mind raced as I wheeled the smoking vac out into the carport, flipped it over to reveal that underside that you never actually want to see in any appliance, and removed the smoldering sock from its black spinning brush cylinder thing.
Now I was left with a dead vacuum and was looking at another expensive trip to the Home Depot or some other such establishment and was not pleased at all. My parents had come into town for a visit recently and I thought I finally had things under control with regard to having the family house set up. My dad loves to play golf when he can, so I got some cheap passes to The Crossings in Durham from my bro Jonny (aka: Jonny R n R), and we planned on 18 holes of golf and got an afternoon tee time. Then, I later planned to throw down some grilled eats at my house with the parents, and do some entertaining for the kids and basically do the family thing the right way. My wife and I were beside ourselves with happiness, thinking we had all of the bases covered, it looked like it was going to be a great visit after a decade of struggling to make these parental stays better than awkward and a lot less than horrific for all of us.
Finally the day of the visit came, and just before my parents appeared at the front door, I was beaten down once again by another unexpected event which had a dollar sign attached to it. In a carefree way, I bellied up that morning to my computer, moved the mouse and waited for the usual signs of life. I heard a loud pop, followed by a crackling sound which continued for like five seconds. My first ignorant perception was that the inside of my monitor was on fire or something. The screen just went completely black. After that very moment I knew it would never work again. I was at a loss for words at that point and I didn't even think of mentioning it to my parents.
Luckily for me, when we were on like the tenth tee, my dad asked me what the deal was with my computer monitor. I had no idea he knew what was up with it. He told me he had slapped the side of it to get it to work right and that he was going to buy me a new flat screen monitor. I couldn't believe my luck. My dad has always done what he said he'd do, and the next day he showed up with a new monitor in box. I am looking at it right now. It is awesome.
Anyway, my wife and I awoke the following morning to an empty house. The kids were at the hotel with my parents. The silence was peaceful. I wondered as I walked down the hallway what I was going to do with my first day off in a week and decided I'd start by using the restroom. Sure enough, when it came time to flush, Crack!!, the toilet handle snapped in two. Tack on another trip to Home Depot.
Buick Update: The power windows no longer work and a couple are stuck open. During the rain storm the other night, birds took refuge inside the embattled automobile, where they proceed to shit on the fine Buick interior, which also, was completely soaked in the storm.
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