We recently bought a new vacuum cleaner. We shopped around and decided to purchase an Oreck. Two weeks later, we got this email from the company:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wolfsie,
Thank you for buying a new Oreck. We hope it brings you many years of vacuuming pleasure. Please call us today about hosting an Oreck party.
Your friendly Oreck Sales Team
The truth is that I don’t have any intentions of spending a single enjoyable moment with my vacuum. I was a bachelor until I was 33 years old and I managed to maintain a very active social life without hovering over a Hoover or dallying with a Dirt Devil. In addition, I have always felt there is something frightening about vacuum cleaners. Every dog I have ever owned agrees.
It was a friendly gesture by Oreck, to be sure, although I have no recollection of a similar follow-up after the Wolfsies bought our state-of-the-art sump pump. And I’ve gone through all my previous correspondence and no one cared a whit whether I had a positive experience with our document shredder. As a general rule, I don’t want annoying phone calls and letters asking me if I’m a satisfied customer. If I have a garbage disposal that is not disposing, the load of goop in my sink is a good indication that I’m not happy with my purchase. I think I’ll skip hosting a party.
When I had my car serviced, the dealership called me every other day for a week to see if I was happy with my new brake pads. I told them that I couldn’t be more thrilled and that I’d be willing to throw a happy hour for all their customers, so people could vent about some of the poor brake pad choices they’ve made in the past. (Assuming any of those people are still alive.)
Now, let’s talk about that Oreck party. My wife and I are not big on “entertaining,” the term my mother used for dinner parties when I was growing up. As a kid, I kept waiting for Mom to break into song when the guests arrived and for my father to commence a little soft-shoe.
But what about a vacuum cleaner bash? I’m not usually at a loss for words, but I’d be stuck for snappy conversation while guests clustered around the artichoke dip. I took a speech class in college and once spoke off-the-cuff for 15 minutes on the topic “Life Before Rubber Bands.” Nevertheless, the prospect of chatting with 20 people who shared similar cleaning devices was daunting. Who knows what I’d be asked?
“So, Dick, I understand you and your wife have a new Oreck. Enlighten the group with some of your favorite moments.”
“It’s hard to pick our favorites. The night the bag of Fritos fell on the rug was unforgettable. We loved the time the dog shredded the down pillow.” I’ll tell people that Mary Ellen has a special place in her heart for Christmas morning when there was packing foam all over the living room floor.
Mary Ellen and I will pass on the Oreck party. We still have feelings for our first vacuum and it was tough saying good-bye. It wasn’t easy for Kirby the past few decades. He was the product of a bygone era when people were not as progressive in their thinking. Until the day Kirby died, he pretty much remained in the closet.
Dick Wolfsie spent his career sharing his humor, stories and video essays on television, radio and in newspapers. His columns appear weekly in The Paper of Montgomery County. E-mail Dick at [email protected] aol.com.