Scrub harder
In a remarkable series of circumstances, I had the day off today. A Friday, and it was sunny with no hint of rain, snow or other weather to negatively affect the karma. But, nature abhors a vacuum, and wives hate to see husbands with a free day (at least, in my experience). So, since summer is short, it was time to reopen the fair weather room in our house. The deck of drab colours. Time to repaint the wood. As if unpainted wood is ugly!
Not fully awake, I agreed to “do my share”. I would prepare the surface for a new layer of stain. I would find some way to create a uniform layer of barely coloured lumber; given the heat, and past experience, there was no way I was going down on all fours with a sharp edged tool. And then I remembered an ad on TV for some fancy tool that would spray the surface clean. Think giant water gun.
Of course, any such good intentions never happen without incident, so I stopped for gas, filled the van with $60.01 of totally taxed unleaded imported from Venezuala fuel, and realized that my wallet was elsewhere. I ignored the first thought – drive home and retrieve my papers. Instead, I convinced the assistant manager that I had an honest face (and left the car registration papers as a sort of virtual parole). First mini-crisis thus avoided.
Next stop on the itinerary was the tool rental store. I knew what I wanted; I just had to invent a description that was sufficiently visual for the clerk to find one. Remember, I am a second-language citizen. There was something that he promised would do “the job”, sort of, if I was patient. I am a patient fellow, by nature. He would need my credit card as a guarantee. Right. Credit card. The one that is at home with the wallet.
No big deal; I memorized that number years ago. I think I may be the only person the clerk has ever met that has done such a feat of memory. Complete with the expiry date and the special code on the back side. He had me write it down, and when the machine at the other end accepted his entry, I was the proud “owner” of a machine, for the next four hours, for less than twenty dollars. Deal.
Now, we’ve all played with water pistols, but this was the best one I’ve ever seen. It required a garden hose and an electrical connection, but in return I had super-soaker power in my hands. I soaked my shoes, my pants, but not my pride. I sprayed and washed and succeeded in removing several years of grime and faded stain from the deck, revealing the spirals etched into the surface “the last time around” by my son, when he had a similar revelation.
This thing rocked! Imagine how easily I could remove grease and grime from the kids, or the dog, or the kitchen (if I could figure out how to clean up the water after the jobs were done). I accepted the vibration in my arms for the next couple of hours; coffee cups should come with vibrating mode. Who knew that water could clean (other than every mother on the planet).
As I was returning my water blaster, the guy next to me was talking about a machine that used sand…
