- "Hi, Ma-am, how are you? We are working in the neighborhood today, offering free carpet cleaning!"
O-K, they don't seem to want to murder us.. What? Free? Carpet cleaning?
When we moved into the apartment, the brown carpet in there was already not of the first freshness... I am not an avid housekeeper, so it never got any better. In fact, things were getting a little desperate in that department. Seeing my obvious interest, the glib speaker went on with his spiel: "We are promoting the great Kirby Vacuums, so we will clean your carpet with your own vacuum cleaner and then do it with the Kirby. You will be able to see, how much dust your usual vacuum misses, but ours will pick it all up!"
It turned out that the second man was there as a trainee. If we bought the vacuum, he would get some prize or another. I didn't care about that. Despite the warning bells going off in my head, I agreed to let them do their thing, after explaining that I won't be buying anything without consulting with my husband first. The trainee ran downstairs to get the celebrated vacuum cleaner. As they started to vacuum, the TV repairman showed up. He was a little taken aback by all the activity in our place, but also went on with his job.
For a while, it was an insane scene in my apartment. The vacuum salesmen fanatically worried the rug, the TV repairman needed to go see the satellite dish. The kids sat on the couch and watched with their mouths open how I ran between all of them.
The TV repairman finished and left; he was smirking. I guess, in his whole life there wasn't so much entertainment as in our crazy place. The salesmen used my vacuum and now employed theirs to show me it's superiority. After some time passed, though, they were still cleaning the same square foot of the carpet. I could see the desperation growing in their faces, as they realized that here they needed a turbo jet engine to make any difference in the cleanliness of my rug. In about forty minutes of it, they stood panting from exhaustion, defeated but not yet giving up.
Chicken Bone, who wisely avoided the noisy room with a lot of strangers in it, showed up now, to inspect the intruders in his kingdom. He was in his prime then, just about two years old. The senior salesman's eyes lit up: "I see you have a kitty-cat. Do you know that the Kirby vacuum has a cat cleaning attachment?" Poor Chickie was captured and given to the trainee to hold, while his mentor fired up the machine.
The trainee was not very adept at handling cats. As Chickie realized that we were trying to use this roaring, stinky, sucking thing on him, he forgot to be polite and employed every weapon at his disposal to get away. And weapons he had. I saw the great claws come out and pierce the trainee's light sweatshirt. The cat managed to climb over the man's shoulder and onto his back. He still was using his claws to try and get out of the tight squeeze. The sweatshirt had blood on it now, and the trainee, who was wincing and writhing in pain, finally, gave up and let Chickie go.
That was it. They knew that they were beaten. They tried to get me to buy the vacuum, but the fight's gone out of them. Pale and deflated, they left our home, to go and find some cleaner people. You see, I always knew, that my slovenliness will one day pay off! As for the carpet, only that one square foot ever got any neater.