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MyCool_Stuff
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Life is a Vacuum, Author: Rob Krider, Sun TimesIt was a quite Tuesday night, just like any other Tuesday night. I came home form work, took my shirt off, and sat my butt on the couch. My wife and I were taking it easy while paying a game of dominoes. Everything was great. The kids were entertaining themselves, and, I must say, I was whipping my wife at dominoes. Then the doorbell rang. Since I was a shirtless slob, my wife volunteered to see who was at the door. That was the first mistake. My wife is just too nice of a person to answer the door. She feels sorry for people. She makes food for the homeless. She donates things to goodwill. She generally cares about people. Me, I hate people. "Get off my property," is what I say. Solicitors, beware coming to my door. I have thrown more than one distant cousin off of my porch before I realized they were relatives and not just someone trying to get me to buy satellite TV. I couldn't see what was going at the front door from my vantage point on the couch. Then I heard the three works I dread: "Come on in." To my horror, my wife let a 20-year-old girl into our house while I was shirtless on the couch. Unless it was a scout for the show "Biggest Loser 2," I couldn't think of single good reason for my wife to let a stranger in the house while I had my shirt off on a seemingly normal Tuesday night. My wife explained to me that "Jenny" was collecting canned food for a food drive. My first thought was, "Why can't Jenny wait out side? Does she get to pick out what canned food we donate? These charities are getting a little pushy." Then my wife explained that before Jenny could accept any canned food from us, she had to shampoo the carpet in at least one of the rooms in our house. Shampooing carpets, even if someone else did it, would mean I had to get off the couch and move furniture. It was Tuesday night; I just wanted to do a whole lot of nothing. I tried to be nice and said, "Jenny, that sounds great. How about we just give you the cans and then you can leave? We won't tell anyone you didn't shampoo our carpets." Then Jenny began to pull at my wife's heart strings: "My manager checks up on me to make sure I shampoo, plus I'm trying to win a trip for my some and me to San Diego to go to Sea World. My son was born with a hole in his heart, and he spends a lot of time in the hospital, so we have never been able to take him to San Diego. I just need to do one room. It will only take a few minutes." My wife was very concerned about the hole in Jenny's son's heat, so against the obvious body language I was showing my wife, which said, "Get her out of hear!" my wife agreed to allow the carpet shampooing to begin. Jenny walked out the door and gave some sort of secret signal. Six seconds later, a van full of people arrived, and then three more strangers where in my living room all working diligently to set up some sort of super vacuum. As it turns out, Jenny wasn't just at my house to help the homeless. And she wasn't there to shampoo my carpet either; she was standing in my living room because Jenny wanted to sell my wife and me a new vacuum. I got up and went looking for a shirt while shooting my wife a dirty look as I left the room. I came back into the living room and Jenny was hard at work, proving to my wife that she and I were the dirtiest people hat ever lived. Jenny continued to suck pound after pound of dirt out from our carpet to show us that our old vacuum was a piece of junk. Then again, maybe the bag had been full for about 2 years and nobody at my house knew hot to empty it. Next, my wife escorted Jenny and crew to our bedroom where they vacuumed our mattress. More and more stuff came out of the mattress. According to Jenny, the particles coming off our mattress were microscopic feces form the to million dust mites that feed on our skin when we sleep. Then Jenny showed my wife a blown-up color photo of a dust mite. My wife looked sick. Besides looking sick, she looked scared. She looked scared enough to buy a very expensive vacuum. Once I saw the look on my wife's face, I know it was inevitable that we would soon be the new owners of Jenny's super vacuum. Finally, it came down to the payments: only $2 a day for three years. Jenny asked my wife if her health was worth $2 a day. I asked Jenny whether for $60 a month she was going to come over and push the vacuum around the house. ( I was thinking, "push the vacuum around the house naked," but my wife was there, so I left that part out. ) Then I told Jenny that if it was really the vacuum of the century, I wanted the deal of the century. After some heavy negotiation, I got $201 for trading in my old vacuum-full bag and all-and then I got $50 more off for trading in my broom. I'm now the proud owner of a Kirby vacuum. I guess you can say I'm a sucker. Rob needs a sign for his front door that says: "Don't bother knocking. I own a Kirby vacuum, my daughter's a Girl Scout, I get the paper, I have cable, and I found the Lord." Copyright by Rob Krider, 1-27-05. | |