Wednesday, January 21, 2009
My new Eureka vacuum cleaner, the best ratings for the price appliance my husband could find on the Internet, shipped to me straight from a mysterious warehouse in Brooklyn, New York, where dock hands felt a need to wrap the box in neon yellow tape screaming: Refrigerate Upon Arrival.
For some reason, God has decided this is my month to deal with folks' nonsensical tape issues.
Now I’m probably the last person on the planet to wax on about a sweeper — it’s a bit of an oddity, actually, that I know how to plug one in and run it across the carpet. I darn sure won’t have a clue what to do when it comes time to change the bag, beyond sending my husband an email to add this to his to-do list.
So I gave it a test run out of boredom — I mean, curiosity — and learned in the first seconds why they named the brand Eureka. As in Eureka! It’s picking up the confetti. Eureka! It’s dragging me across the floor like an untrained puppy on a leash. Eureka! This thing truly sucks!
Now I’m in love with a vacuum cleaner to the point I’ve used it since my cleaning gal was here last week, and clocked in an extra 50 steps on my pedometer in the process. There’s just one problem: the name. Every time this bad boy stares up at me with its The Boss SmartVac label, I’m irritated. Hey, I’m the human in the house — I get to be the smart boss. This appliance needs to be called something else, and I’ll send one of my infamous flip-flop shoe books to the person who suggests the best nickname.
As a bonus, I’ll wrap my own piece of tape bearing this new name around the canister and send you a photo. Maybe we’ll both figure out what’s so fun about tape.