Bonus Friday (Part 2)

After the DMV, I headed over to Mr. Bill's house to clean.

Mr. Bill is a really nice guy who's wife passed away last year.  He called me up to see if would be interested in cleaning his house for him because "well, I could do it my self...but I don't really want to."  Fair enough, the man's an 80 year old Korean War Vet, as far as I'm concerned he can do whatever the heck he wants.

About an hour and a half into my work, I realize that there are about 9 flies buzzing around one of the windows in his living room.  "Bill? Do you have a fly swatter?"

"Sure do! Let me get it for you. Where is he? I'll get him for ya."

"Um well, you see, there are a few of them flying around up there...like eight or nine..."

"We're gonna need a step stool for this!  Here, you get started and I'll be right back."

Now, Bill was a fighter pilot, or maybe he did something with bombers, I'm not really sure - in any case, he was pretty bad ass back in the day, but in 2013 he's not much bigger than me.  The sight of Bill up on his step stool waving that fly swatter back and forth just about gave me a heart attack.  I was fairly certain he was going to fall and break something.

"Back when our planes were on standby in '51 and '52 all of us Air Force guys would hang out on the runway in the tiniest little shack you'd ever seen.  Boy, that thing would fill up with flies so fast...now, the reflexes were a little better then, mind you, but we could catch those flies with our bare hands! Then we'd throw them at the ground to make sure they were good and dead because...well, why not?

Now, it may be "a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."  But it's also true that where men gather together in groups of two or more and there are flies to be found, those men will eventually try to catch those flies with their bare hands.  Then they will smash them on the ground.  I've seen students do it, I've seen my husband do it, I've even seen my 2 year old son do it.

After we beat the flies into submission, I dragged out his ancient 40-pound canister vacuum to suck up the
carcasses and do my final sweep through the house.  After banging into the wall/door/bed frame/coffee table/insert furniture piece here for the 16th time I began reciting my bi-weekly prayer:  "Lord, I wouldn't be heartbroken if this thing stopped working and maybe, just maybe, Bill would buy an upright vacuum. Amen."

I finished vacuuming his bedroom and went to turn off the machine.

Nothing.  The stinking thing would not turn off.  I bet you didn't realize that it's possible to simultaneously feel horrified that you just prayed a nice man's vacuum into oblivion and overwhelmed by gratitude that the Creator of the Universe would grant such an insignificant request.  Scratch that, I'm SURE you didn't realize it because you're not a loser like me who prays about vacuums.

I finished vacuuming the rest of the house but was terrified that I would be electrocuted each time I plugged that thing into the wall.  (Little blue sparks of terror!) When Bill walked in the back door, I tried my best to hide my elation as I explained the problem to him.  He said he'd take a look at it and try to get it to work again.  Little does Bill know that this event was ordained by God and there is not much hope for bringing his Electrolux back to life.

Everyone keep your fingers crossed for me and think happy vacuumy thoughts.