When I moved into my apartment, I was excited to see a new Hoover vacuum cleaner, an American brand, smiling at me in the hall closet eager to be put to use. Actually, I was not excited at all about the prospect of cleaning a foreign apartment. I was just intrigued by the brand name. It was the only thing that made sense. It was a comfort after facing the fact that my new home was only equipped with a Turkish toilet. The "Hoover" was like a security blanket. I can remember when Hoover was like Kleenex. Hoover was both a brand name and noun. You didn't just get the vacuum out of the closet. You got the Hoover.
Hoover and I had been meeting weekly for a walks around the apartment, but recently our dates have ended. I haven't "Hoovered" since Eric left about two weeks ago. You see, Eric, in his zeal to be a great husband, a modern American husband, a man who is not too proud to admit that he can run a vacuum, decided, while I was at work, to remove the almost full vacuum cleaner bag, throw it away, and venture out to purchase new bags.
Unfortunately, I'm beginning to realize the problem with having an American brand name vacuum in Eastern Turkey. Vacuum cleaner bags...or should I say, the lack of Hoover #64 bags. Eric has been to many places. I've been to at least 8. I've asked the man who furnished my apartment for help. So far, nothing. But there is a silver lining...no cleaning with a clear conscience!