Where is the Fuller Brush Man when you need him?

In 2004, my mother purchased an Oreck vacuum cleaner from a door-to-door salesman. Or at least that's how I remember the story, which included the sales guy telling her that people loved Oreck vacuums so much and they lasted so long that they put them in their wills to leave to their children. It became a running joke.

I ended up with the vacuum.

Despite a recent "tune-up" at the Oreck repair shop, it is malfunctioning. The machine weighs 9 lbs. It does not hurt my back. I want the damn thing fixed, or I want another Oreck.

Tech Guy (my new name for the hubby) did what he always does when I request what he considers a big-ticket item. He researched vacuum cleaners and bought the one he wanted. It was a Shark Vertex Pro, which he told me was over $300. It was actually over $400, and I know this only because Alexa informed me of that price when Amazon refunded our money after the return. I mean...$469 for a vacuum cleaner? 

I have a whole list of items I'd rather have for that price.

The vacuum arrived in three boxes, and I insisted that we read the instructions before Oleg put it together.  There were 42 instructions we were to read before even using the vacuum, most beginning with DO NOT in bold, capital lettering, with helpful advice like:

DO NOT handle plug or vacuum with wet hands.

DO NOT leave the vacuum unattended while powered on.

DO NOT place vacuum on unstable surfaces such as chairs or tables.

DO NOT allow to be used as a toy.

I stalled at number 8: This appliance can be used by persons with reduced physical, sensory or mental capabilities or lack of experience and knowledge if they have been given supervision or instruction concerning use of the appliance in a safe way and understand the hazards involved. 

I had to reread that sentence multiple times.

Darcy: "I can't use it because I haven't been supervised properly."

Madison: "Who is supposed to offer this?"

Me: "I think we're being educated by reading these 42 instructions."

Darcy: "I just don't understand."

As I stated earlier, we did not keep the vacuum. Who invented these stick vacuums with the debris collection canister placed by the handle? It immediately hurt my back, but in fairness, I made everyone take a spin with it. 

Darcy: "It wrenched my shoulder out of the socket."

Oleg: "Well, you'll have one toned bicep after vacuuming."

Madison: "I don't think I'd like this appliance even if I had the proper instruction. It's a miserable vacuum."

I now see why people leave their Oreck vacuums to their loved ones. Hopefully, I'll be able to fix or replace mine so I can get it into the will. 

More bad news...or is it?

The day after my van died, our refrigerator died. Like my car issues, the refrigerator has always been a thorn in my side. Let me count the ways:

• Tom purchased it while I was out of town. I had no idea what it looked like.
• The seal around the freezer broke. We had it repaired.
• The ice maker kept freezing underneath the catch bin. We had it repaired.
• That repair did not fix the problem. Every week we had to take off the bin and defrost it.
• The dispenser on the front door dripped water. I always had streaks.
• It didn't hold much food.
• It was hard to clean (although that was more due to our small space than the refrigerator)

I swore I would never purchase a side-by-side refrigerator. Yet, somewhere between my old and my new one, I changed my mind. It was a mistake. Why I thought there would be more room is beyond me. Unfortunately, there isn't. Don't kid yourself.

The repairman appeared. He was a man of few words. That is until he saw the magnet on our refrigerator from Oleg's family. Then, his whole face lit up with joy.

Him: "That's Ukraine!"

I explained how my daughter was dating someone from Ukraine. He told me that was where he was from. We were buddies from then on. He first thought the problem was simple. I waged internally with this news.

Me: "This is good. We have car problems that are going to cost an arm and a leg. We can't afford another expense. But I hate that refrigerator. It doesn't work. Why can't the damn thing die? No! No! We need this to be an easy fix!"

Things like that. 

He had to pull the refrigerator out from the wall, and he wasn't keen on letting me sweep behind it. So every time he disappeared to his truck, I'd take a stab at cleaning up the dust bunnies and various nonsense that had fallen behind the refrigerator. I washed all of the internal pieces that he took out. I was quite the little helper. Meanwhile, my food, which was semi still frozen, was defrosting on my kitchen table.

Then the repairman announced the problem was not simple. He had defrosted the refrigerator to where it worked, but the part we needed would be $500, and it would take six weeks to arrive. I called the hubby and handed him the phone. They discussed it. Tom asked for his opinion. Fix or not? I crossed my fingers and internally hoped for not, and when that came out of my Ukrainian friend's mouth, I happy danced around the kitchen.

Yes, people, I was happier about getting a new refrigerator than I was about getting a new car. Ah, the life of a housewife!

I immediately jumped on researching and had several picked out to look at when we got to Home Depot. Tom had one in mind that the finance guy at the dealership had suggested. When Home Depot's employees were not helpful--or courteous--we went to Lowe's, where we had a delightful, helpful employee. In less than fifteen minutes, we were the proud owners of a new appliance. And yes, it was the one Tom wanted. But, in my defense, it was on sale and AVAILABLE THE NEXT DAY!! 

It doesn't exactly fit in our small space. It encroaches past the door leading to our garage, and despite the removal of the molding and other stuff on the wall, it is a problem we decided we could live with. We did discover that a roller was missing from the drawer in the refrigerator, but Lowe's assured us they would bring out a new drawer the following day. 

Instead, they brought us another refrigerator. I'm not kidding. When the lady called to tell us this was how they did things--and she was scoffing and rolling her own eyes at admitting this--we told her there was no way in hell we weren't just taking the drawer. 

Which we did. The delivery people loved us. And I love my new refrigerator, even though I never use the knock-knock feature for the light to come on so that I can see what's inside my refrigerator even before opening it.

I also did not hug my old refrigerator like I did my van. I shouted good riddance and then happy danced all around the house.

But that's it. Nothing else can break. Seriously.

It'll all come back to haunt you

Several months ago, in the process of helping my friend with home renovations, I observed her doing laundry. She is one of those laundresses who soak and spray and fart around with their washers while they are running, stopping to add products, etc. I'm more the throw it in with some detergent and hope for the best, but I have several friends with a laundry obsession--the types who will not let me touch their machines or their clothing. One of them absolutely refused to allow me to wash her child's clothes when I kept her for a week! Apparently, laundry isn't considered one of my fortes.

My friend got a new set of machines almost a year ago, and the washer is a deep one. So deep that my short friend is unable to touch the bottom of her washing machine. To deal with this situation, she bought some grilling tongs, the kind with the long, long handle, and she uses it to pick up the items of clothing she can't reach. I found it hilarious. I mean, ingenious, but funny. I thought a stool would work too, but her room is narrow and houses a multitude of cleaning items, and it would just get in the way. Thus the tongs.

During the renovations, my own washing machine went on the fritz, and I was forced to turn my laundry over to my friend or go to a laundry mat. I chose my friend.

Who did a remarkable job every other day of cleaning our clothes until my husband gave up and purchased a new washing machine.

You can imagine what's coming, can't you?

The new machine is exactly like my friend's machine in that it is deep. I mean, pool diving board depth. It's great for a family of six like my cousin Jaimee but for empty-nesters? I only do my laundry every two days or so, and that's if I want to divide the loads into whites and colors. Which I do in deference to my Laundry Tyrant friends.

The thing is I can not reach the bottom of the machine when there are small items such as socks. I have to get up on my tippy toes and stretch far into the barrel. My big belly butts against the side and depending on the stretch can get knicked against the opening. It's, well, I was going to say a stretch, but... 

What did the makers of washing machines think making these suckers so deep? I mean, did no one consider this problem? Nothing came up trying out the prototype? 

I finally gave up the other day and got the tongs--not the grilling tongs since I'm taller, but regular tongs. Then in curiosity, I researched this problem on the Internet and found that yes, people, especially short people, are having trouble. 

Consumer Reports had an article explaining deeper washers as a way for us to boost capacity. I mean, who wants to spend all day washing load after a load of laundry? The same article suggested a deep diving technique to retrieve the laundry at the bottom or, if preferred, the use of tongs. So much for my friend as the inventor of that little device.

Oh, and of course, someone did invent it. Ah, first world problems.

SueG: "Not so funny now, is it? Guess what you're getting for your birthday?"

Another machine tale

I spend a lot of time searching through my blog for various articles that I may or may not have written to link them in my new posts. This was the case when I sat down to write about my new washing machine, but alas, I didn't find the documentation. Which means I'll have to start at the beginning.

A little over ten years ago, we bought a Whirlpool washing machine because our old one died. It was the first one without the agitator, a top loader that seemed very big to me. So big that I figured it could wash my king size comforter. The washing machine broke, although I did not confess to that being the cause. The repair guy informed us the tub was broken, was not covered under warranty, and shrugged his shoulders.

Hubby was pissed--at Whirlpool, at the store where we bought the machine (where the guy told me I could wash my king-sized comforter), and at everyone around him who had a working washing machine. See now, why I left out the comforter details? It's a wife thing.

Irritated, he went to Home Depot and purchased another washing machine without my knowledge. It was delivered the next day while I was at a swimming lesson and so my SIL, who was visiting, accepted the delivery and showed me how to use the machine. It was a Maytag, much smaller than the Whirlpool, and straightforward. No bells or whistles. The detergent went directly into the machine, and the fabric softener into a ball then thrown into the bottom. I shrugged and went with it. I mean, it's laundry.

Two weeks ago, that machine, during the rinse and spin cycle, went apeshit crazy. It emitted a sound like a ten-foot monster tearing through my garage growling and screaming at an ear-splitting level. I went outside, guessing I had an unbalanced load, and the damn machine was walking. WALKING. Away from the wall and toward me, growling and groaning and shrieking. I barely had enough time to push the button that turned it off before I was swallowed whole.

I fixed the load and turned it back on, but the monster kept coming. It took another three washes before it hit me that maybe the damn thing was broken. I pulled out the wet laundry and hauled it to my friend's house to her super large Samsung washing machine. It can wash an entire sports teams' laundry, and she's a skilled laundress, taking great pride in her soaking levels, hanging of clothes, etc. She finished my load for me.

When the husband got home, I gave him the bad news.

Tom: "What do you mean it walks?"

Me: "It walks. Out. Away from the wall. And it screams. Loudly."

He refrained from asking if I'd been drinking, but I know he thought it. He's learning. 

He took the back off and turned it on. Within five minutes, the machine was out of control, and Tom appeared in the house his eyes wide and his hair standing on end.

Tom: "That was the craziest thing ever. Did you hear that noise? It was so loud I couldn't hear myself think. That was incredible. The thing literally walked. I couldn't hold it back."

Me: "Have you been drinking?"

Tom: "What? I'm serious."

One thing about the husband is he keeps every bit of paperwork on appliances. So he pulled out the information on the Maytag and lamented that it was only a little over eight years old. He'd paid for an extended warranty, was annoyed we'd never used it and decided that he'd fix the machine himself with Youtube's help.

He spent two days watching videos and assessing the machine. In the meantime, he suggested I go out and look at washing machines. My laundress friend and I did this, and I found two machines at Home Depot I thought would work well and were within the range I would spend. I went home, gathered my laundry, and turned it over to my friend. I wasn't missing my machine at all.

By the end of the week, the husband decided the tub was the issue. Same as the Whirlpool. He went off to work and discussed machines with his co-worker and then purchased a month's subscription to Consumer Reports. He read the reports and then read the customer reviews, and then he insisted I accompany him to Home Depot to look at machines. Sigh.

My two washing machines were on his list, but not as high as the LG. So I opened the lid, peered inside, and asked the lady if I could wash a king-sized comforter. She told me I should be able to do that on the "bulky" cycle, and I agreed it was a fine machine. While the hubby bought it, I went to look at refrigerators.

My friend continued doing my laundry for another week until my machine was delivered. I had my coffee while the husband followed the delivery guy's instructions to run the machine for thirty minutes.

After thirty minutes, he appeared in the house and smiled.

Tom: "The machine is all ready to go."

Me: "Go where? Does this one walk too?"

Tom: "No, it's ready to go meaning ready to get to work. It's all ready for you.--to get to work."

Me: "Say that again so I can record that for my SnapChat followers."

Then we spent our Saturday watching our laundry swish in the see-through lid.

This, people, is what happens to parents after the kids go to college. Get ready.