Seriously. You ever have one of those days?
So, my daughter was kind enough to give me a used sofa. She delivered it, my Mom stored it in her garage, and I figured maybe I’d give it a good steam cleaning before the actual venture to our home in Liberty and up to the narrow hallwayed-second floor-apartment. And thus, dear con-artist reader-my saga begins.
I find mom’s steam cleaner, fill it with hot, hot water and ammonia and take it out to the garage. Try to turn on the lights in the garage, but they aren’t working. Hmmm. Check the cords, everything plugged in properly, follow the extension cord that supplies the garage with electricity to the back of Ma’s house—all plugged in. Damn it. Call mom at work, ask the receptionist for “Laundry”—no answer. Decide to wait a bit—maybe she’s on break. While waiting, realize the attachment hose isn’t on the steam vac. Go back into house and find it in Ma’s “Junk room” closet. Take it out and attempt to figure out how to hook it up. Seriously confused. Oh well, I’ll ask Ma when I call her. Decide to remove the cushion covers and wash them in the washer. Crap, there are two zippered compartments—not just one—and I know when I go to put them back on its going to be a helluva fight. OK, anyway, I remove all the sponge innards, set them aside, fill the washer with hot water, use some extra shout on each cushion and get the wash started. After about 20 minutes, I call the nursing home where Ma works and ask for Sandee Hall. Ma says maybe the reset button on the outlet needs to be hit again and when I ask about the hose attachment she gets a little scattered trying to explain. At that point I hear someone in the background say something—must be a smart ass comment because Ma yells “shut up!” Ma says to plug the one end into the little cubby and the other end goes in the part that you take out for dirty water. OK, I say, I’ll figure it out.
I take out the water tank and dirty water receptacle, get the one end plugged into the cubby OK, but can’t for the life of me figure out the other end. Sighing, I decide to just look it up on the internet. Go BACK into the house, check the internet—crap—forget to look at the name of the vac. Go back to garage and find name “Hoover Steamvac Spinscrub” got it. I recite the name all the way back into the house, find the Hoover website, type in Hoover Steamvac Spinscrub and am linked to a place where I can find and download (of course) the entire instruction manual. OK, I type in Steamvac Spinscrub—again—but am advised I need a model number. Out to the garage find the model number—recite it all the way back in, but forget it as soon as I go to type it in. Go to kitchen get a pen and paper, go back out, and find model number. Back into the house—the dog is now looking at me like I seriously need meds—and type in the model number—TO WHICH THE WEBSITE EXPLAINS THEY ARE SORRY BUT NO LONGER HAVE THAT MANUAL!!! Slight twitch. Big Sigh. I type in various things hoping to find other results. Lots of questions like mine, but the answers are vague and complicated. 3 more times I go back to the garage and attempt to follow some of the written directions, but to no avail. Bigger twitch. Bigger sigh. Swear. Find a website with video instructions and click on that. Careful not to get ahead of myself I watch the entire video to make sure I know what I’m doing. OK, I got it. Go back to garage—struggle for about a minute but get it hooked up. Start to steam clean the couch—although now the water is pissy warm-- and immediately discover that it really isn’t the tool I need to clean the sofa after all. What I need is a bucket, a scrub brush, and some elbow grease. Complete facial distortion, kick the steamvac, swear at everything and the dog, sit down, count to ten and compose myself. Go BACK into the house, grab a bucket. Turn on the hot water faucet---to find THERE’S NO HOT WATER because I used it all cleaning the goddamn sofa cushions in the washer.
Sit down, say a prayer and meditate for 5. Consider all my options. I really need this sofa. It really is in good condition. I love the color. It has to be cleaned, though, cause Katie’s little guys are rough and spill a lot. I think about my life. I give myself credit for raising a good daughter, making it through a difficult divorce, working my recovery and more, and make what I feel is the right decision—Fuck it—I’m going to take a nap.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Baby Got Vac
Seriously. You ever have one of those days?
So, my daughter was kind enough to give me a used sofa. She delivered it, my Mom stored it in her garage, and I figured maybe I’d give it a good steam cleaning before the actual venture to our home in Liberty and up to the narrow hallwayed-second floor-apartment. And thus, dear con-artist reader-my saga begins.
I find mom’s steam cleaner, fill it with hot, hot water and ammonia and take it out to the garage. Try to turn on the lights in the garage, but they aren’t working. Hmmm. Check the cords, everything plugged in properly, follow the extension cord that supplies the garage with electricity to the back of Ma’s house—all plugged in. Damn it. Call mom at work, ask the receptionist for “Laundry”—no answer. Decide to wait a bit—maybe she’s on break. While waiting, realize the attachment hose isn’t on the steam vac. Go back into house and find it in Ma’s “Junk room” closet. Take it out and attempt to figure out how to hook it up. Seriously confused. Oh well, I’ll ask Ma when I call her. Decide to remove the cushion covers and wash them in the washer. Crap, there are two zippered compartments—not just one—and I know when I go to put them back on its going to be a helluva fight. OK, anyway, I remove all the sponge innards, set them aside, fill the washer with hot water, use some extra shout on each cushion and get the wash started. After about 20 minutes, I call the nursing home where Ma works and ask for Sandee Hall. Ma says maybe the reset button on the outlet needs to be hit again and when I ask about the hose attachment she gets a little scattered trying to explain. At that point I hear someone in the background say something—must be a smart ass comment because Ma yells “shut up!” Ma says to plug the one end into the little cubby and the other end goes in the part that you take out for dirty water. OK, I say, I’ll figure it out.
I take out the water tank and dirty water receptacle, get the one end plugged into the cubby OK, but can’t for the life of me figure out the other end. Sighing, I decide to just look it up on the internet. Go BACK into the house, check the internet—crap—forget to look at the name of the vac. Go back to garage and find name “Hoover Steamvac Spinscrub” got it. I recite the name all the way back into the house, find the Hoover website, type in Hoover Steamvac Spinscrub and am linked to a place where I can find and download (of course) the entire instruction manual. OK, I type in Steamvac Spinscrub—again—but am advised I need a model number. Out to the garage find the model number—recite it all the way back in, but forget it as soon as I go to type it in. Go to kitchen get a pen and paper, go back out, and find model number. Back into the house—the dog is now looking at me like I seriously need meds—and type in the model number—TO WHICH THE WEBSITE EXPLAINS THEY ARE SORRY BUT NO LONGER HAVE THAT MANUAL!!! Slight twitch. Big Sigh. I type in various things hoping to find other results. Lots of questions like mine, but the answers are vague and complicated. 3 more times I go back to the garage and attempt to follow some of the written directions, but to no avail. Bigger twitch. Bigger sigh. Swear. Find a website with video instructions and click on that. Careful not to get ahead of myself I watch the entire video to make sure I know what I’m doing. OK, I got it. Go back to garage—struggle for about a minute but get it hooked up. Start to steam clean the couch—although now the water is pissy warm-- and immediately discover that it really isn’t the tool I need to clean the sofa after all. What I need is a bucket, a scrub brush, and some elbow grease. Complete facial distortion, kick the steamvac, swear at everything and the dog, sit down, count to ten and compose myself. Go BACK into the house, grab a bucket. Turn on the hot water faucet---to find THERE’S NO HOT WATER because I used it all cleaning the goddamn sofa cushions in the washer.
Sit down, say a prayer and meditate for 5. Consider all my options. I really need this sofa. It really is in good condition. I love the color. It has to be cleaned, though, cause Katie’s little guys are rough and spill a lot. I think about my life. I give myself credit for raising a good daughter, making it through a difficult divorce, working my recovery and more, and make what I feel is the right decision—Fuck it—I’m going to take a nap.
So, my daughter was kind enough to give me a used sofa. She delivered it, my Mom stored it in her garage, and I figured maybe I’d give it a good steam cleaning before the actual venture to our home in Liberty and up to the narrow hallwayed-second floor-apartment. And thus, dear con-artist reader-my saga begins.
I find mom’s steam cleaner, fill it with hot, hot water and ammonia and take it out to the garage. Try to turn on the lights in the garage, but they aren’t working. Hmmm. Check the cords, everything plugged in properly, follow the extension cord that supplies the garage with electricity to the back of Ma’s house—all plugged in. Damn it. Call mom at work, ask the receptionist for “Laundry”—no answer. Decide to wait a bit—maybe she’s on break. While waiting, realize the attachment hose isn’t on the steam vac. Go back into house and find it in Ma’s “Junk room” closet. Take it out and attempt to figure out how to hook it up. Seriously confused. Oh well, I’ll ask Ma when I call her. Decide to remove the cushion covers and wash them in the washer. Crap, there are two zippered compartments—not just one—and I know when I go to put them back on its going to be a helluva fight. OK, anyway, I remove all the sponge innards, set them aside, fill the washer with hot water, use some extra shout on each cushion and get the wash started. After about 20 minutes, I call the nursing home where Ma works and ask for Sandee Hall. Ma says maybe the reset button on the outlet needs to be hit again and when I ask about the hose attachment she gets a little scattered trying to explain. At that point I hear someone in the background say something—must be a smart ass comment because Ma yells “shut up!” Ma says to plug the one end into the little cubby and the other end goes in the part that you take out for dirty water. OK, I say, I’ll figure it out.
I take out the water tank and dirty water receptacle, get the one end plugged into the cubby OK, but can’t for the life of me figure out the other end. Sighing, I decide to just look it up on the internet. Go BACK into the house, check the internet—crap—forget to look at the name of the vac. Go back to garage and find name “Hoover Steamvac Spinscrub” got it. I recite the name all the way back into the house, find the Hoover website, type in Hoover Steamvac Spinscrub and am linked to a place where I can find and download (of course) the entire instruction manual. OK, I type in Steamvac Spinscrub—again—but am advised I need a model number. Out to the garage find the model number—recite it all the way back in, but forget it as soon as I go to type it in. Go to kitchen get a pen and paper, go back out, and find model number. Back into the house—the dog is now looking at me like I seriously need meds—and type in the model number—TO WHICH THE WEBSITE EXPLAINS THEY ARE SORRY BUT NO LONGER HAVE THAT MANUAL!!! Slight twitch. Big Sigh. I type in various things hoping to find other results. Lots of questions like mine, but the answers are vague and complicated. 3 more times I go back to the garage and attempt to follow some of the written directions, but to no avail. Bigger twitch. Bigger sigh. Swear. Find a website with video instructions and click on that. Careful not to get ahead of myself I watch the entire video to make sure I know what I’m doing. OK, I got it. Go back to garage—struggle for about a minute but get it hooked up. Start to steam clean the couch—although now the water is pissy warm-- and immediately discover that it really isn’t the tool I need to clean the sofa after all. What I need is a bucket, a scrub brush, and some elbow grease. Complete facial distortion, kick the steamvac, swear at everything and the dog, sit down, count to ten and compose myself. Go BACK into the house, grab a bucket. Turn on the hot water faucet---to find THERE’S NO HOT WATER because I used it all cleaning the goddamn sofa cushions in the washer.
Sit down, say a prayer and meditate for 5. Consider all my options. I really need this sofa. It really is in good condition. I love the color. It has to be cleaned, though, cause Katie’s little guys are rough and spill a lot. I think about my life. I give myself credit for raising a good daughter, making it through a difficult divorce, working my recovery and more, and make what I feel is the right decision—Fuck it—I’m going to take a nap.
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