Yesterday, as I crawled around on the floor of my new bedroom removing the tiny paper scraps (left by the previous tenant), I experienced a pivotal moment in my coming of age. In that instant, I wanted nothing more than to purchase a shiny, new vacuum. Not one of those Dirt Devils that simply toy with the idea of a spotless carpet, but one that really gets the job done. I started to speculate all the awesome parts of my new vacuum… that is, until I realized that I probably can’t afford anything better than a crappy Dirt Devil.
Last week, I moved to Nashville, TN and began my summer sublet of an apartment owned by another grad student, who I assume to be the culprit of the Papery Mess. I went to the hall closet (which will be featured in an upcoming post titled “Design Flaws of my New Apartment”, of which there are many), and grabbed what I believed to be a FUNCTIONING vacuum. Notice how I say “functioning” instead of “great”, “totally awesome”, or even “barely acceptable”. My expectations were already low, but oh boy was I wrong! This particular vacuum seemed to have a hidden feature: it somehow could hold the 2% of dirt it managed to remove from my carpet and transport it all the way to the other side of the room! Wild. So after that, there I was on my hands and knees, picking up the Papery Mess and dreaming of a better vacuum. Which then led me to think, “Holy shit, I’m literally my mom”.
I think I was about 10 or 11 when, for Christmas, all my mom wanted was a new vacuum. I thought this was ridiculous. I used the vacuum every weekend to do my Chores™, and I never had an issue with it. Also, a vacuum seemed like a dumb Christmas present. Why would you want a vacuum when you could want an Xbox 360? Or a hard copy collection Harry Potter books? Or an Xbox 360? Nonetheless, come Christmas morning, Santa (aka my dad) had delivered a shiny, new vacuum to my very deserving mother. And although I thought that was silly at the time, right now, I would love it if someone would climb down my chimney and bring me a shiny, new vacuum. Maybe that’s a sign that I’m becoming more boring with age. Maybe I’m growing to be more practical, and maybe I am literally my mom, or maybe I just have a standard of living higher than a bedroom full of Papery Mess. All I know is that I really want a new vacuum.