On Vacuums (the appliance, not the space devoid of matter)

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.