Well that just sucks

My vacuum finally died on Friday. Knowing that this day would come soon enough, I had been researching consumer opinions and already had an idea of what type of vacuum I would buy.

On Sunday afternoon, the oldest daughter and I went to the Best Electronic Crap for Sale store to make our purchase as I was fairly certain I would have the best chance there to wheel and deal with the sales associate. Just my luck, it happened to be a 20-something boy. So I flashed my award winning smile and lured him into the price matching web.

Of course I couldn't get straight down to business; instead, I engaged the salesboy with flirtatious vacuum chat. "Which vacuum gets great reviews?" I mused. Coyly, I pretended that I hadn't spent the last two days pouring over said reviews. Then he began to walk over to the luxury 500$ models. To which I stopped him dead in his tracks with a terse "Ah, no. I'm not buying one of those."

Yeah, I was prepared to waste some time to make the deal, but there was no way I would concede to purchase a vacuum that would die in five years - regardless if it is made with a titanium lined swirling vortex of suction or not. Due to the volume of hair, dirt, and miscellaneous garbage that it would be forced to suck up daily shed from a family of six, a dog, and a cat, any vacuum used in my house is doomed from day one.

So the vacuum boy and I chatted more about the features of various models, and he kept comparing them to the luxury vacuum. I asked him if he was working on commission. And since he wasn't, after a few more minutes of chit-chat, I eventually admited that I saw the few vacuums I was interested in buying online...with a slightly smaller price tag.

After we made a deal and he went to get a cart so that I could lug the vacuum in box to the register and my car, I noticed a few floor models sat off to the side that had drastically reduced price tags. Tempted, I looked over the dust encrusted machines, pulling out filters and such, and seriously thought about aborting the sale in order to snag one of these ridiculous deals.

In the mean time, my oldest returned from trying out video games, and I told her that I was waiting for the salesboy to get a cart so that we could take our vacuum to the front register and pay for it.

By the time he returned, three or four other sales boys were hanging out at the computer near where I was standing. My sales boy snagged the print out of the price-match, and then nonchalantly offered me a tissue. To wipe off the large smudge of dirt on my face. To which the other sales boys quietly snickered.

I was embarrassed, which was quite obvious due to the thirteen shades of red my face was turning. To which he replied, "You hang around with vacuums, you are bound to get a little dirty." Quietly, I rubbed the smudge off with the tissue.

There is no moment in my life this far that made me feel so middle aged. Geeze. It's not like I have big boobs and cleavage working for me either. Just a bunch of sagging skin. Soon enough the only way I'll be able to haggle a deal is if a poor sales boy has pity on me because I remind him of his mother.

I thanked him, and flashed a look at my daughter that said, "You could have told me I had dirt on my face!"

That's not the end of it. The kid walked me up to the register, I bought the thing, and of course I had to show the receipt to the security dude on the way out. That's two more people I had engaged in conversation at this point.

When I got into the car, I took a gander in the mirror. The smudge I rubbed off while in the store was gone, but the four other ashen finger prints all around my mouth were not. So much for being charming. My daughter swore that she couldn't see the smudges of dirt. She needs to have her eyes checked.

And! And! On top of all that, I realized that I lost an earring in the store. Lucky for me, my daughter agreed to go back in there and search for it. Lucky for her, she found it - which easily redeems her for letting me walk around with ick on my face.