This sucks
It seems I’ve found the “twin,” if you will, of Saran Wrap. Yes. Saran Wrap. The devil in disguise. Satan and all that is wrong with the world and, in general, life, can be found in a brightly packaged elongated cardboard box that houses yards of rolled up plastic wrap. For more insights, go here.
While this dubious device isn’t nearly as aggravating or manslaughter inspiring as Saran Wrap (I think it was raised in a slightly better household), it rightly deserves its place in the Tormenters line (probably somewhere behind Pol Pot and ahead of Summer Rain in Portland).
I think the evilness of this product is that it sits quietly, never bearing its ugly, unspeakably impossible task until AFTER you have taken advantage of its designated use. This, by the way, is the opposite of my other nemesis’ strategy – Saran Wrap blatantly coaxes you into believing its promises are not only worthwhile, but they’re effective and acutually acheivable.
This gets it done with something different; it uses the element of surprise. Your defenses are down. You’re thinking you’ve just finished a job well done, and then – POW! – You’re left babbling and wondering if it was actually you who earned scholarships to go to school.
*
The Carwash Vacuum is a wonderful product.
In theory.
I’m sure the person who came up with the idea of adding on a couple of bolted down, coin operated vacuum cleaners to their drive-through car wash is now a wealthy person. Unless that person happens to be MC Hammer. But that’s probably not the case.
Probably.
Here’s the thing with The Vacuum. It’s a great idea and, when it doesn’t swallow your coins and not operate, it’s great – pretty much sucks loose change and dirt and leaves and small pets into its anodized innards like a pro. But once you’re done with the vacuuming duties and your car is once again off the local HAZMAT crew’s to-do list, you’re faced with a seemingly simple challenge: recoiling the vacuum’s hose to perfectly (not to mention loosely) wrap around its base.
I approached this challenge the way I’m sure most others do. I was feeling good – my car’s finally clean, my poor dog’s not limping around the house with a heat blister on his paw – as I pull the hose out from the front seat of my car. The flexible orange monster is about six feet long and, as I turn to the vacuums cold steel base, I attempt to set the hose on its (for lack of a better word) hanging place, and wind it up that way.
No good.
But who cares, right? This is a good day. The sun’s finally shining and everything. Still smiling, I try it again. Only this time, I take a different tack: I try to place the hose on the opposite side of my previsions attempt, and then wrap it that way.
Nope.
See, the evil genius of The Vacuum is that the hose is just flexible enough to wrap around the ins and outs of your car, but just so inflexible that it can’t be wound tightly upon itself like, say, a garden hose.
15 minutes have now elapsed, and I am staring at the vacuum’s base, vacuum nozzle in hand, trying to recall how it looked when I pulled it from its resting spot. But I can’t – I was drunk with the excitement of thinking I was actually going to rid my car of dirt and empty water bottles.
Now entirely dejected and irritated, I grabbed the orange serpent and its entire length and spilled it on top of the base. I could care less at that point. Besides, the car wash was closing and the acne’d teenagers previously pushing cars through it had left for the evening. But something happened. Be it luck or fate, the hose fell into a perfect loop onto its spot, revealing its secret: you have to start closer to the vacuum’s base for it work. If you start coiling from the nozzle, you’ll want to keep the loop tight, which in turn destroys the loop. Which means there's a high probability the car wash's security cameras will record you beating the hell out of the vacuum's base with its own hose, or hanging yourself with an innovative combination of the overhead lights that illuminate the vacuum area, and the vacuum's just-long-enough hose.
While this dubious device isn’t nearly as aggravating or manslaughter inspiring as Saran Wrap (I think it was raised in a slightly better household), it rightly deserves its place in the Tormenters line (probably somewhere behind Pol Pot and ahead of Summer Rain in Portland).
I think the evilness of this product is that it sits quietly, never bearing its ugly, unspeakably impossible task until AFTER you have taken advantage of its designated use. This, by the way, is the opposite of my other nemesis’ strategy – Saran Wrap blatantly coaxes you into believing its promises are not only worthwhile, but they’re effective and acutually acheivable.
This gets it done with something different; it uses the element of surprise. Your defenses are down. You’re thinking you’ve just finished a job well done, and then – POW! – You’re left babbling and wondering if it was actually you who earned scholarships to go to school.
*
The Carwash Vacuum is a wonderful product.
In theory.
I’m sure the person who came up with the idea of adding on a couple of bolted down, coin operated vacuum cleaners to their drive-through car wash is now a wealthy person. Unless that person happens to be MC Hammer. But that’s probably not the case.
Probably.
Here’s the thing with The Vacuum. It’s a great idea and, when it doesn’t swallow your coins and not operate, it’s great – pretty much sucks loose change and dirt and leaves and small pets into its anodized innards like a pro. But once you’re done with the vacuuming duties and your car is once again off the local HAZMAT crew’s to-do list, you’re faced with a seemingly simple challenge: recoiling the vacuum’s hose to perfectly (not to mention loosely) wrap around its base.
I approached this challenge the way I’m sure most others do. I was feeling good – my car’s finally clean, my poor dog’s not limping around the house with a heat blister on his paw – as I pull the hose out from the front seat of my car. The flexible orange monster is about six feet long and, as I turn to the vacuums cold steel base, I attempt to set the hose on its (for lack of a better word) hanging place, and wind it up that way.
No good.
But who cares, right? This is a good day. The sun’s finally shining and everything. Still smiling, I try it again. Only this time, I take a different tack: I try to place the hose on the opposite side of my previsions attempt, and then wrap it that way.
Nope.
See, the evil genius of The Vacuum is that the hose is just flexible enough to wrap around the ins and outs of your car, but just so inflexible that it can’t be wound tightly upon itself like, say, a garden hose.
15 minutes have now elapsed, and I am staring at the vacuum’s base, vacuum nozzle in hand, trying to recall how it looked when I pulled it from its resting spot. But I can’t – I was drunk with the excitement of thinking I was actually going to rid my car of dirt and empty water bottles.
Now entirely dejected and irritated, I grabbed the orange serpent and its entire length and spilled it on top of the base. I could care less at that point. Besides, the car wash was closing and the acne’d teenagers previously pushing cars through it had left for the evening. But something happened. Be it luck or fate, the hose fell into a perfect loop onto its spot, revealing its secret: you have to start closer to the vacuum’s base for it work. If you start coiling from the nozzle, you’ll want to keep the loop tight, which in turn destroys the loop. Which means there's a high probability the car wash's security cameras will record you beating the hell out of the vacuum's base with its own hose, or hanging yourself with an innovative combination of the overhead lights that illuminate the vacuum area, and the vacuum's just-long-enough hose.
posted by The Haiku Review at 1:39 PM
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