January 22nd, 2018

My vacuum cleaner hates me.  It's true.  Never mind that it is an inanimate object and therefore has no feelings.  My vacuum cleaner obviously is sentient and has emotions and it's primary goal is to frustrate me until I act outside of my normal, easy going, happy demeanor.

​I am hard on a vacuum cleaner, I will admit. When we had pets, of course there was all that fur to deal with and I like a clean house so I vacuum frequently.  I use all of the attachments and back in our Colorado house, hauled it up and down stairs on a regular basis from the second floor to the basement and back.  And not very gracefully either. Lots of bumping and banging on the way up and down.  It has held up far better than any vacuum I've ever owned.

​The previous one, a Dyson, just wasn't up to the task.  In just a few short years it gasped it's last and even before it died, I found myself on a regular basis sitting on the floor with the vacuum in my lap and a pair of scissors in my hand, cutting away hair and thread and whatever other bits of this and that had entangled itself and prevented the rollers from rolling.  I was not sorry to see it go. 

Before the Dyson I had somebody's castoff vacuum that only lasted very briefly and a cheapo sales dealio special that was only slightly better than using a broom and dustpan and refused to pick up pet fur at all.  At least the Dyson initially made an effort. 

The biggest gimmick with the Dyson was that it was "bagless".  The idea of not having to buy and replace vacuum bags was appealing, I won't lie.  Right up until I held that full canister over the garbage can, flipped a switch and all of that dust went up while the weightier schmeg went down.  Coughing and gagging, I dropped it all and fled the room, my asthma kicking into over-drive.  Lesson learned.  Be Very Careful emptying that bagless canister.  Even though eventually I did get better at it, never once did I empty that canister without afterwards having to sweep the floor.  Seems kind of ridiculous to me.

​So our current vacuum has a bag.  replacing it is certainly a cleaner prospect than emptying a canister.  Ok.  And it has all sorts of neat-o attachments for cleaning draperies (if I had any) fabric, carpets, tile, hardwoods, heck I can even dust with it if I want to.  It even has that little nozzle-ish sort of thing that goes into corners like a champ.  It's not too heavy, doesn't take up a ton of space and so what exactly is the problem, you ask?

​Well lately, it doesn't want to work. Unless Tim is in the room.  I am not even joking a little bit.  If Tim is in his office working, door closed, not to be interrupted and I'm trying to vacuum, it will turn on, but it doesn't vacuum.  I mean it makes the appropriate noise as if to fool me into believing that it's working, but nothing is actually happening.  Oh, if I take it apart and use just the fabric cleaning attachment, I can make that part work.  But seriously do I want to vacuum the entire house hunched over with a tiny four inch long thingie in my hand?  I have done it out of desperation but it's a back killer for sure.  

​The first time the work stopage happened, I assumed the bag was full and needed to be replaced.  Replaced it.  Nope. Nothing.  Was the roller tangled? Nope.  Is there a clog somewhere in the hose?  Nope.  Hmmmm.  I put it away until Tim had time to check it out for me.  That weekend, he agreeably pulled it out, plugged it in and it was fine.  "What did you say was wrong with the vacuum?"  He asked me.  I explained what happened.  "Well it seems to be fine now"  "Hurrah!"  I said and quickly ran the vacuum through the house.  

​The next time I pulled it out, nothing.  Ratz.  Tim checked it out for me again.  He plugged it in, turned it on and voila!  Perfection.  He started looking at me oddly.  "I swear to you"  I protested, "It wasn't working".  "I believe you"  he said, totally not believing me all the while.  And it was fine again. For awhile.

​Then Christmas happened.  Christmas is a glittery holiday.  After I put all the decorations away  I definitely wanted to do a very thorough job of cleaning to get the marauding sparkly bits under control.  Out comes the vacuum aaaannnddd it won't work.  Dang!

​Very calmly, I wrapped it all back up and put it away and swept everything. I swept the carpets, I swept the floors, I dusted the furniture.  A few days later I tried again.  This time it worked, for awhile.  By the time I reached the family room it stopped again.  That was the time I finished the job all hunched over with the fabric attachment in my hand, swearing colourfully all the while.  I think when I put the vacuum back away, I may have given it a little kick.

​Once again, when Tim checked it, it started up with no problem. The entire time he was in the room with me it worked fine.  As soon as he left the room it quit. I swear this happened.  When I reported this to him, he rolled his eyes but wisely said nothing.

​So this is how I vacuum now.  Tim has to start it for me.  When it, inevitably quits, it sits and waits until he has time to come in to the room and make it start again.  It can take a full day to get the job done.

​I think I just realized what is going on.  My vacuum has a crush on Tim!  HAH!  

​Personally I think this entire problem could be solved by just having Tim do the vacuuming.  Everyone would be happier. Well except possibly Tim.