Defeating the Machine

Not this time! I tell the vacuum cleaner as it begins to spit sideways and deposit more cat hair on the carpet than it sucks up, Not this time!

Armed with the instruction manual, a kitchen knife and a screwdriver, I lay out newspaper on the floor and lay the machine on its back. My head swims with the cost and number of similar machines that have come and gone in the past year - as if their slogans were "Use Once & Throw Away". This one will be different, I vow, this one will not be dragged to the curb or the repair shop. This one will behave if it takes all my wits and every tool I have, including but not limited to a hammer.

Despite the diagrams, I locate the screws and begin the process of dismantling the hateful thing, one careful piece at a time. I clean the filter, check all the hoses and each belt. I remove the bits of string wound around the rollers and tap out the grains of kitty litter. The entire process completed, I reassemble it, plug it back in. It continues to spit defiantly. I give it a hard kick and begin all over again, this time without benefit of the instruction manual, operating on common sense and the certainty that there is a clog somewhere - it needs only to be found. Giving the hoses a second look, I spy a connection near the bottom, something I missed initially. Renewed in spirit and with fresh determination, I disconnect it - it takes some force but I am persistent - and after several twists and turns and several muttered curse words, it springs free, revealing a nasty little nest of cat hair, a dime, one lone earring and a single stick of gum. Flooded with triumph and relief, I attack it with a pair of kitchen tongs and clear it mercilessly. Just minutes later, the machine sucks with a vengeance and I am overwhelmed with my own cleverness.

Nothing is as sweet a victory as defeating a machine.