Errant Ramblings: Mitzi Szereto’s Weblog

Teddy Tedaloo does the vacuuming

The new vacuum cleaner’s here! The new vacuum cleaner’s here!!

You know that scene in the Steve Martin film “The Jerk” where his character Navin Johnson goes absolutely crazy with joy, shouting to all and sundry “The new phone book’s here! The new phone book’s here!!” – and all this just because he was listed in the phone book?

Well, I can understand his excitement. If you’ve been following my (mis)adventures with the vacuum cleaner that never arrived, you’ll  know that the simple act of ordering a household appliance from one of the UK’s largest catalogue retailers resulted in a series of mishaps, not to mention a number of wasted days. I was out of food, hadn’t been to the gym in eons, and I needed to get to the post office urgently. But where was I? You guessed it: waiting at home for the sound of the doorbell.

Let’s just say there was little danger of me turning into Quasimodo any time soon.

As I understand it, the Argos delivery men kept claiming I wasn’t home when they called. Then it was revealed that they’d tried to deliver to another flat. Then it was revealed that they were running late due to flooding in the region and would be at my door by 9pm. (They weren’t.) Then it was revealed that the vacuum cleaner was never loaded back onto the van for redelivery the next day. Then it was revealed that after having confirmed my address at least a zillion times, they’d got it wrong and all this time they’d been going round to another flat (the one where no one was at home). I requested the order be cancelled. It wasn’t. Instead they promised to deliver it on a Saturday. I stayed home. Again. Guess what? It never arrived. So I arranged to have it cancelled. FOR GOOD.

Meanwhile my carpets hadn’t been vacuumed since before I left for America on Christmas Eve, which was just after my previous vacuum committed suicide. I guess that one last journey up the stairs did it, because it was still corpos mentis – or as corpos mentis as a vacuum cleaner can be…

…Until it reached the upstairs landing. And promptly died.

To say that things were getting grim on the carpet front would be an understatement. I had to do something – and I had to do it quick. Sure, the easiest thing would be to GET EVEN, but I was above all that. Instead I went back online and found another vacuum cleaner that I liked even better. I admit I had my apprehensions about getting dear old Argos to deliver it, however, it proved not to be an issue – the vacuum I wanted was out of stock for home delivery and would have to be collected from the shop.

Fine. There’s an Argos on the High Street, not even a five-minute walk from my flat. Sounds easy, huh? Well, not so fast. I knew it would be a mega-struggle for delicate little me to haul a cumbersome box containing a vacuum cleaner all the way home. And, as I’ve found out from far too many times struggling with suitcases or shopping bags, there are very few gentlemen left in this macabre joke we call “Western civilisation” who might offer to step in and help a damsel in distress, so any thoughts of having some nice lad come up to me and suggest carrying my burden was about as likely as Britney Spears abandoning her trailer to become a woman of class and breeding. I did consider the option of simply waltzing right up to any reasonably fit-looking male on the street and asking him to help me out, but I don’t like being left in the lurch – and the thought of loitering forlornly at the threshold of my local Argos unable to get my vacuum cleaner home held little appeal. Nor, for that matter, did the thought of literally dragging the damned thing all the way home.

Enter the Loftmen. Now that’s another tale in itself, as I’ve been actively recruiting for new loftmen, since one of them has been doing a rather poor job these days – and you really need to have at least three loftmen to be safe. My other loftman whom I’ve kept fairly busy lately with loft business (and dealing with the no-show vacuum) had to work on the day I needed to collect my vacuum cleaner. Now I ask you, what’s the world coming to when a loftman chooses to do silly things such as go to work rather than be at one’s constant beck and call? Which left me with my spare loftman: my landlady’s boyfriend, who, by a rather convenient coincidence, works nearby both me and the Argos.

Hey, I’m nothing if not resourceful, so I shot off an email to him first thing in the morning (he already knew about my vacuum cleaner saga from when he’d come by to do repairs), asking if he might spare a few minutes during his lunch break to carry my vacuum cleaner home. He replied immediately, saying “No worries, I’ll meet you at 12:30pm.” And there he was, 12:30pm on the dot!

As they say, all’s well that ends well, and I’m now the proud owner of a nifty new bagless cylinder vacuum cleaner.

If only Teddy was as happy about it as I am.

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It’s now Day 2 in – dum da-da DUM - The Adventures of the New Vacuum Cleaner!

…Well, if it ever bloody gets here, that is.

Don’t you just LOVE waiting around for delivery men? I say “men” because they are usually always men, therefore it figures that everything will be a complete cock-up (no pun intended) when men are involved in having to sort anything out other than their dirty socks. Though come to think of it, they can’t even get that right. Indeed, the world is run by men. Do we need any further evidence of their incompetence? Having said that, I’m no great fan of women either. On the contrary. In fact, I think we need an entirely new gender since neither of the two we’re now stuck with appear to be of any benefit to society, or the world in general. Back to the drawing board, Mr. Darwin!

So, yesterday while I waited at home all day for the Argos delivery van, my little heart pounding with excitement over the prospect of finally being able to vacuum my carpets after more than two months (my previous vacuum committed suicide) – forgoing an urgent trip to the post office I should add – an attempt was made to deliver my new vacuum cleaner to the occupant of another flat. I find this most disconcerting, seeing that my address was correct on the order and has since been confirmed and reconfirmed and reconfirmed yet again. I’m certain they all went down the pub last night while I left the outside light burning my carbon footprint even deeper into the earth’s soil as I waited for an after-hours delivery that never arrived. If this keeps up much longer, I’ll be thirsting for revenge .

The thought that someone else might be vacuuming their flat with my lovely new bagless vacuum cleaner with hose and attachments which was ordered for me as a gift by one of my loftmen really sticks in my craw. I can’t abide infidelity of any sort, not even if committed by a vacuum cleaner. As for the bestower of said vacuum cleaner, I have a suspicion he’s trying to make up for the rather lax service of late I’ve been receiving from my original loftman, who’s ignored my numerous and increasingly desperate pleas to take me to Ikea to buy some lamps (I had two die on me) and a new kitchen rug (spilled bleach on the old). I also have several empty suitcases on the landing along with two empty boxes that need storing up in the loft. I’m now at the point where I’m calling this catastrophe on my landing “Installation Art.” Tracey Emin‘s got nothing over me!

I tell you, things are getting so grim round ‘ere that I’ve been forced to advertise for a new loftman. I mean, what’s a single girl living on her own in Blighty to do? As I’ve found out, you can’t count on anyone these days, especially men. I did get some replies to my job posting, however, and yes, I’ve pretty much decided on my new loftman. He’s cute, foreign, and he really likes my bear. As a matter of fact, they’re becoming quite chummy! The only problem is, my prospective loftman doesn’t have a visa for the UK. But other than that, he’s perfect!

Meanwhile, from the upstairs window I peer down at the street below, hoping to see the Argos delivery van pull up outside. How much longer must I wait?????

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