Bissell. This name is synonymous to Hercules. Equivalent to Achilles. Comparable to Superman.
My new hero.
When I was a child, "vacuuming the house" was a torturous villain my sister and I hid from, fought against, and failed to destroy all our lives. We would have rather scrubbed the walls with pipe-cleaners (oh the drama). If you were smart, you would run to Mom on chore day and volunteer to dust. This not only made you look like the better child (volunteering), but it doomed your sibling to lugging a vacuum twice size up and down the stairs all afternoon (mild exaggeration).
I was never the smart one.
Two weeks ago, I made a significant investment. Thanks to the tax refund I'd yet to receive in the mail, I counted my chicks before they hatched and bought the Bissell Powerful Turbo Bagless Vacuum (yes, I welcomed childhood-villain into my home). It came with a mini attachment called the Turbo-brush. Anything with the word turbo should receive instant brownie-points. In the moment when we shook hands and I signed the receipt, I realized I'd misjudged Mr. Vacuum my entire life. Beneath his mask and oppressive growl sits a cape and a shiny "I'm Super" badge.
This monstrous dirt-eating superhero entered my home to replace my sad little sweeper. The sweeper had a cute heart and gave a little wheeze every time I pushed it over my paper-thin carpet. That is, until it's wheezer fell out.
My new hero.
When I was a child, "vacuuming the house" was a torturous villain my sister and I hid from, fought against, and failed to destroy all our lives. We would have rather scrubbed the walls with pipe-cleaners (oh the drama). If you were smart, you would run to Mom on chore day and volunteer to dust. This not only made you look like the better child (volunteering), but it doomed your sibling to lugging a vacuum twice size up and down the stairs all afternoon (mild exaggeration).
I was never the smart one.
Two weeks ago, I made a significant investment. Thanks to the tax refund I'd yet to receive in the mail, I counted my chicks before they hatched and bought the Bissell Powerful Turbo Bagless Vacuum (yes, I welcomed childhood-villain into my home). It came with a mini attachment called the Turbo-brush. Anything with the word turbo should receive instant brownie-points. In the moment when we shook hands and I signed the receipt, I realized I'd misjudged Mr. Vacuum my entire life. Beneath his mask and oppressive growl sits a cape and a shiny "I'm Super" badge.
This monstrous dirt-eating superhero entered my home to replace my sad little sweeper. The sweeper had a cute heart and gave a little wheeze every time I pushed it over my paper-thin carpet. That is, until it's wheezer fell out.
I attempted to fix it multiple times, but to no avail. So, my dear apartment went for at least three months with no dirt pick-up. Don't judge. I'm a poor college student (in a year and a half, I won't be able to use that excuse anymore, so I need to play that card while I have it). Today, after abandoning the "instructions" booklet and assembling all three pieces of my vacuum, I turned on the Bissell-hero. It growled like a revving-Harley.
All the tiny dirt particles (and then some) bounced around my living-room floor like panicked ants. They knew they'd be eaten in mere moments.
All the tiny dirt particles (and then some) bounced around my living-room floor like panicked ants. They knew they'd be eaten in mere moments.
Bissell-hero's eating habits sounded like a Beech Baron Twin Engine flying through a heavy rain storm. I don't expect you to know what that sounds like, but just know it was a more-than-appropriate vacuum sound. Its headlight (yes, it has a headlight) illuminated the miniature dirt-bunnies fleeing from its black-hole suction. They didn't make it.
My long-held loathing for vacuuming skipped out of my apartment like a rejected piper. I vacuumed his footprints off my doormat and told him to never come back. In the end, I dumped out two hair monsters and a pound of dirt (no joke). I've been walking on that. And sitting on it. And lying on it. *shudder* I owe many apologies to my clothing, mainly my socks. My living room looks brand new--almost as new as my vacuum. It sighs. I sigh. Summer suddenly peeks in the window and shouts, "Can I come in?"
Why yes, yes you may.
Bissell-hero waits in the corner patiently, mysteriously, and handsomely...eliminating one dust-bunny at a time with super-vacuum stealth.
My long-held loathing for vacuuming skipped out of my apartment like a rejected piper. I vacuumed his footprints off my doormat and told him to never come back. In the end, I dumped out two hair monsters and a pound of dirt (no joke). I've been walking on that. And sitting on it. And lying on it. *shudder* I owe many apologies to my clothing, mainly my socks. My living room looks brand new--almost as new as my vacuum. It sighs. I sigh. Summer suddenly peeks in the window and shouts, "Can I come in?"
Why yes, yes you may.
Bissell-hero waits in the corner patiently, mysteriously, and handsomely...eliminating one dust-bunny at a time with super-vacuum stealth.
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