Say What?

Alone at last, well, sort of, just me and my vacuum cleaner attacking the matted blue carpet. Once upon a time this carpet was brand new, plush and comfy to lie upon. “Well, that’s a distant memory,” I heard spoken above my thoughts. “God? God, is that you speaking?” I ask in a state of bewilderment. Laughter followed my question as my shaking hands reached down to turn on the vacuum cleaner to hush the sound of the evil laughter. The vacuum coughed to life, but quickly the cough became a high pitched squeal and the motor fizzled out with the evil laugh that started it all, “Bahahahahahaha!” Unplugging the vacuum cleaner I tipped it back to take a look at the under workings of this monstrosity. “Heavy Duty, my ass,” I mutter as I reach for a screw driver to take the bottom panel off. “Hey, don’t blame me!” I heard. “I’m not blaming you, God, it’s this vacuum cleaner, and I bet it’s made in China. Yup, sure enough, see, right there? Made in China.” “Hey, lazy, I’m not God! Think about it real hard, I’ll give you a hint, my name is Eureka!” By now I’m squatting before my monstrous, yellow vacuum in shock. “I think I’m being punked. I know we paid a lot of money for this vacuum, but it didn’t say it could talk, let alone talk back!” Stepping back I search for the camera that I’m sure my husband and children have hidden, but I had no luck. As I walk back to the vacuum I hear a friendly chuckle. “I know what you’re going to do now,” the voice said. “What am I going to do, Eureka?” I asked, deciding to humor whoever happens to have hidden the camera. “You’re going to take me apart, piece by piece, and try to find the clog. When you can’t find it and I still can’t clean the carpet you will set me outside in wait for garbage day.” “Well,” I began, “if you’re broken you should be thrown out.” As I exposed the underside of the vacuum the voice became agitated, and louder, until I put a screwdriver in the opening for the hose. The voice became muffled. “Why are you shoving that thing into my throat?” the vacuum cried. “You’re broken, I need to fix you!” I shouted, not even realizing that I no longer thought this was a joke but was taking this conversation seriously. “Broken? I’m broken? I’m not broken you are, and you’re racist too!” Eureka shouted. “Me, racist? I don’t think so! And you’re judgmental!” I said. “Oh yeah? When you thought you were talking to God you said I’m broken because I was ‘Made in China’. Maybe I’m broken because you had the brilliant idea to raise five children on new carpeting! Have you any idea how many of my ancestors have attempted to clean this carpet? You’ve even broken a steam cleaner trying to clean up after one beautiful bout of illness all over the carpet by three of the five children. “ I am very upset now, “Are you blaming my children?” “Not at all,” Eureka exclaimed. “You’re the one that can’t reach any of the high shelves to dust, and you won’t use my extender bar, so all that dust comes crashing down and then you expect me to find it in the mass of carpeting. No, I’m not blaming the children for the house failing white-glove testing. I’m blaming you.” Stepping back I calmly walked to the tool cupboard, when I heard Eureka shout, “Hey, where, where are you going? Have I embarrassed you?” Returning with my husband’s ball peen hammer I went to work, with each thrust of the hammer I shouted, “I will only buy American Made, if that makes me racist then who cares?!” I heard Eureka whimpering a bit before one final blow took the sass out of her. “Eh, it was time for a new vacuum anyway.”