I found myself at the vacuum repair place this morning a scootch before 9 a.m. hoping to pick up my new Dyson that needed some warrantied fixin after gracing my house for about a week. (Is it wrong that I want to send lovey postcards to my vacuum while it sits in the shop? I guess if it is, then I don’t care about being right.)
They’d had it for sixteen days already and the estimate had a delivery date of Sunday, but they are closed Sundays and so I just showed up Monday, expecting. The owner of the shop sort of reminds me of Nikolai, or maybe one of his friends. (And, must say that I am still missing Six Feet Under. *sigh*)
Did we CALL you?
To SAY it was READY?
um. no. but i was driving by and the slip said yesterday, so. . .
I will look in back for you.
We have to order parts.
Will be ten more days.
wow. ten. huh. ten. ten? ten days? ten? really? i guess i’ll borrow my mom’s vacuum?
We will CALL you SOON as it is READY? OKAY?
see you in ten days! (did i smile and wave? yes. yes i did! even though i was far from happy!)
I walked out the door, crushed. If you think I’m joking then you have never been vacuumless when your carpet was dirty enough to successfully hide Rhesus monkeys. Not that they would live in such a nasty, filthy environment. Click that link. They’re so damn cute.
I went to my van, completely deflated. You know how when you’re already glum things like the vacuum (the new, four times more than I’ve ever paid for a vacuum, object of all my nesty affections vacuum) not being fixed and ready can seem so tragic? Okay, you can just pretend you know. I don’t care. I was in that zone. Or I was, that is, until I saw the old guys.
First one came toward me as I was walking. He had one of those little suitcases on wheels with a telescoping handle and was making his way to the sidewalk from the parking lot. I figured he had some appliance in there that needed to be fixed and I wanted to tell him that HEY GO SOMEPLACE ELSE. THIS SHOP IS SLLLOOOOWWWWW.
But, then, I saw two more guys with wheely suitcases headed my way. And, could it be? Coming up the sidewalk, another? And, more, arriving here and there in the parking lot?
Know what they were doing at just about 9 a.m. on a Monday, pulling their suitcases behind them?
Bowling! Or, waiting outside for the bowling alley to open up anyway. And, that made me really, really, super happy. Because how great is that? A bunch of old guys, meeting up at the bowling alley to hang out and drink coffee and bowl while the rest of the world is going to work? On a Monday!
I thought about them a lot today. It was nice to imagine them getting strikes, dancing around in their not-rented shoes.