This Doesn't Suck

I mentioned on Sunday night that I bought a new vacuum cleaner. I also mentioned it was a long story, vacuums and me. Well, maybe it is long, but I'll tell it tonight, in hopes that maybe someone can learn from my misfortune.

Until I moved into the Poderosa five years ago, I'd never owned a real-live vacuum. I mean, I'd owned them, but they were always hand-me-downs from friends and relatives. So they generally sucked (or in reality didn't suck), but I was expecting them to suck (or in reality not suck). They were, well, as we say in the doll-collecting world, "pre-loved." And so I'd accept a vacuum from someone, use it a few times, have it go south on me, and think, "OK, it was only good for four final sweeps, and pbbbbt." And I'd wait for someone else's kindness for four more sweeps.

But when I bought my very first house, I got a brand spanking new vacuum cleaner as a housewarming gift. And boy, was I excited. I was excited to tear into the box, to put it together, and to begin that initial carpet sweep. I felt like June Cleaver on Cloud Nine, dipping in and out of rooms and having the time of my middle-aged life.

Then, about 3 months later, pbbbbt.

My brand new vacuum was acting suspiciously like my brand old vacuums of the past. It sounded not unlike a 747 taking off for parts unknown, and nothing much seemed to be disappearing inside the machine. And it was at that point that I started to wonder if it wasn't all those used vacuums, but their owner.

When it became clear that this vacuum wasn't going to be the friend I'd anticipated, I ditched it (never telling the kind soul who bought it for me) and purchased another one. This one was very nice, not overly expensive, but not a drop in the bucket either, and was a bagless type. Bagless! Surely this was right up my cleaning alley!

And it was, for a while. Sure was nice not worrying about those cumbersome bags, and being able to look through the little window to see my progress in the whole dirt-sucking process. Then, after about four months, you guessed it, pbbbbt. No airplane sounds this time - he ended more with a whimper than a bang. He was a very quiet little fellow, bless his dead heart. And after taking a long hard look at this dead soldier, I came to the stunning realization that I was indeed the Black Widow of vacuum cleaners.

When one realizes this, there's only one thing to do. Head out to the store for another vacuum to kill! Which I did, and I actually spent quite a large amount of money for the next one, another bagless, that had all kinds of hoses and buttons and features that I never learned how to use before it went and died on my ass. Now, I'm sure you're wondering, "Why exactly would you spend a large amount of money on your next vacuum, after killing approximately four vacuums previously, two of them brand new?" And I wondered that too! I wondered it as I was loading it into the cart, zooming it to the cashier, and writing my check. "Why am I doing this?" I asked myself, then signed the check and headed home to hook it up and suck.

And as if that weren't enough, probably within a month of this rather large purchase, I bought another vacuum! This one was a little "dustbuster" type of gizmo, a hand-held vacuum that fit into a small upright frame so I could use it as a vacuum cleaner or a hand-held vacuum. I did this for three reasons - it was cute, it was cheap, and I suddenly decided on this day that I needed a hand-held number for those hard to reach nooks and crannies.

OK. Here's where I get to put in my aside. I haven't inserted an aside into a blog of late, and I'm starting to miss them. So here it is. While all of the above was taking place, while I was buying and killing and buying and killing vacuums, I would always notice something. While I was using these machines of death, something odd was happening. Let's see, how to explain this. You know the comic strip Peanuts? You know Pig Pen? You know how Pig Pen always has this little puff of dirt around his feet wherever he goes? Well, my vacuums had that, but it wasn't dirt. It was white. And I would also notice that in changing bags and emptying bagless chambers and cleaning and changing filters, that my guys would just be permeated with white powder. It would end up everywhere. I don't do cocaine, don't play with chalk, don't have problem dandruff, I don't line my carpets like a football field, and I don't really powder myself very much. And yet, I had this powder.

And after less than three months, although my $40 Dustbuster Who Pretends He's A Vacuum was still working, well, working when hand-held, not in his upright cleaner frame, my expensive bagless vacuum had indeed again gone toe-up.

Up until about a year ago, I'd never really mentioned my problem to anyone. I mean, would you? Here I am, a grown woman allowed to vote and drive a car and carry a checkbook and buy liquor, and I couldn't keep a vacuum cleaner for more than five months. It's not the kind of thing you really want to advertise. Especially to a vacuum cleaner salesman. But finally, somewhere in between sweepers two and three, I had a discreet word with my friend, workmate, and mother figure, San. And boy, did she lay some interesting news on me.

When I told her my sad and sorry vacuum tale, and then explained about the white powder, she jumped on me like the proverbial rooster on a junebug. "You don't use Carpet Fresh, do you? Love My Carpet?" she groaned, and I explained that while I did at one time, I hadn't for years. Which was true. For about the first year of homeownership, I'd take a day, and right before heading off to work I'd sprinkle that stuff all over my carpets, let it sit while I was at work, then vacuum it up when I got home. I liked the way it made my house smell all happy. Then, some wonderful person, some person who surely deserves the Nobel Prize for Housekeeping, invented Febreze. It smelled better, wasn't messy, and lasted longer. And so I started with it, and for about (up until the time of my conversation with San) three and a half years, my house was Love My Carpet-free.

"Makes no difference," San said, matter-of-factly. (San says everything matter-of-factly, which is exactly why she's my mother figure.) "If you've used it once, it's in your carpet forever. For-Fucking-Ever. And that's what's killing your vacuums."

And I'm perfectly willing to believe this, not only for the fact that it takes some of the blame off me for killing my appliances, but also for the fact that with that expensive bagless, I'd really made an effort to keep it going. I emptied it and cleaned the filter after every single vacuum, and after every single vacuum the filter would be so clogged with white icky powder I took on the look of George Washington after the cleaning. (As did Mr M once, inheritor of my Vacuum #2, when he dropped that one and it kind of exploded, turning him and his living room white. And his yard. His yard was white for quite some time.)

But no matter, I knew my expensive bagless was dead. He turned on just fine, and I'd still vacuum, still go through the motions. Of a sort. Actually, here's how it went. I'd turn on the machine, it would whirl along, I'd glide it along my carpets, and then bend over and pick up the lint and bits in the floor. It would have been so much easier to just forgo starting the machine at all and start the bending over and picking up without it, but somehow I felt better running the vacuum while I was picking up the dirt. Then I began taking my little hand-held number (remember, he still works - to this day! - as long as I take him out of his upright vacuum frame), and actually vacuuming my entire house with it. Yes, I'd walk along, stooped over like Groucho Marx, vacuuming my house with a dustbuster. And emptying the filter of its white whoofiness after every room.

But I knew I couldn't go on much longer. In a week or so I'll be closer to 50 than I've ever been before, and I'm not going to see 50 if I have to vacuum like Ape #2 on the Darwin Evolution Scale. So this weekend, I decided to buy another vacuum to kill.

Which I did. This time, I went cheap and cheerful. 50 bucks, a bag type, recommended highly by the lady in the aisle buying vacuum cleaner bags, and that was good enough for me.

It may not last a month. Hell, it may not last past that first vacuuming, but to be honest, I don't care. It was worth $50 to me to have a clean carpet on Sunday. And it's clean, so I guess I got my money's worth. Which is good, since after that one vacuum, I looked at the little plastic window at the bottom of my cleaner, and it's already white.

So where is this all leading? I'm not sure. It's not my fault, and maybe it is my fault. I certainly didn't know what I was doing that first year of Carpet Freshness. Really, I didn't. I mean, you know me. It's not like I'm a cleaning fiend. I didn't use that stuff every day, or even every month, for cryin' out loud. I guess San's right, and once is all it takes.

So please, blogees, learn from my mistake. Never, and when I say never, I mean never ever, even if someone holds a broken bottle to your throat and threatens you with pain of death, use those powdered carpet fresheners. You shall end up like me, buying vacuum cleaners every three months, using dustbusters stooped over like Groucho Marx, and running vacuums while picking up the dirt with your hands.

If I've saved one poor soul from such a fate as mine, it's been, well, actually it hasn't been worth all the money I've spent, but at least I can go to bed with a clear conscience.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners. And who are you thanking, besides, of course, the Academy?
- Honorable Mention goes to Capt A, Mr M, with his "'Dungbreath Gail': Gross kisser. Decidedly unsavory." I'm sure Gail was fond of you, too!
- Runner-Up goes to DeepFatFriar, with his "Dear God! Guess Klan deserved unrobing!" I don't even know what it has to do with anything, but it borders on a political statement, so I'll take it.
- And this week's winner goes to LilyG, with her "Darling guests, great kindness doth unnerve." Leave it to LilyG to use "Darling," then go into Shakespeare. Hark!
- Thanks to all who played. You've all done very well!