Cordlessness is Next to Godliness

My friend the Dustbuster

Having lived with generations of corded vacuums—my mother’s Hoover, my own used Sunbeams and Eurekas, a succession of devices that sucked and slurped without cease and ruined perfectly good Saturday afternoons—I am grateful to my Dustbuster, its limited battery life, and my sister, for showing me the way.

Our father was a power tool guy and my sister didn’t fall far from that tree, her plug not far from that outlet. With him it was all drills, routers, sanders, and saws, jig and otherwise. For her it’s sewing machines, sergers, and steamers. But her tools extend beyond the sewing room. She has an air fryer, for instance, and a Dustbuster. Tell me, I say, Is a Dustbuster really all it’s cracked up to be or is it just an awesome name? It turns out she’s on to her third or fourth device, their predecessors retired only after long years of service. Her vacuum rarely sees the light of day. But do you like the job it does, I ask, Does it meet your sucking standards or have you had to compromise? Her eyes light up. I love it, she says. She catches the shed hair of passing dogs almost before it’s hit the floor. 

She keeps it by her in the TV room, open-carry style, like a side-arm, the faster to unholster from its charger and deploy at the first sign of trouble: fur, dust balls, crumbs. She and the ‘buster move as one. If she had two she could juggle them like Ian Stewart, World’s Greatest Chainsaw Juggler; she’s that good. 

Following the conversation in which I quizzed her about its merits I received a box in the mail. My very own Dustbuster, a gift from her. I recorded the reveal and assembly and then plugged it in and waited for it to charge. I have a dog, he’s why I’m interested. I was unable to stay ahead of the fallen fur that organized itself into sagebrush-like balls and roamed the condo like a herd of miniature buffalo, every passing breeze sending them off in another direction over the vast linoleum prairie. I dare you, I said to the dog, the Dustbuster fully charged, I’m ready. 

The Dustbuster and my sister have been invaluable in teaching me that you should never spend more than ten minutes cleaning, a limited battery life a lesson not a liability. I’d gotten myself into a situation over the years of letting my vacuum call the shots. With an endless supply of power and cord I could vacuum myself into exhaustion but the dirt always came back, it always does. The best I can do, really, is manage it. With a Dustbuster I can accomplish almost the same result as a vacuum, the appearance of clean floor as well as the feel, the larger lumps out from underfoot. I’ll never want to eat off my floor but that’s because I’d also need to wash it and I don’t own a mop. I’m considering a Swiffer Wet Jet for my next lifetime.

Initially I was critical of the way the ‘Buster stopped mid suck but that’s because, in effect, I was regarding it as a full-sized vacuum. Black and Decker and NASA only ever intended it as a “quick way to clean up messes and spills,” a special occasion tool, but like the astronauts for whom they invented battery-operated tools I too am glad to be free of the cords that might otherwise ensnare me. Zero gravity isn’t the issue in the living room that it is on the moon but cords are still a pain. I’ve chosen to view its limited battery life not as a shortcoming but a strength, a kindness, bestowed upon me by the gods of leisure, my best interests at its tiny, battery-operated heart. It has me on a cleaning diet. Time to stop, it says, Good enough, You have better things to do.  

Do you sometimes find yourself going like mad hell just to get that last dustball, that last crumb, before the Dustbuster dies, I ask my sister. From the time I hit the on switch I’m running. Absolutely, she says, It’s a game. What Dustbusting lacks in dignity, however, it makes up for in found time; Saturday afternoon here I come. If the Dustbuster is any indication, all chores should come with their own internal kill switch.

(Photo Credit: Back to the Future Part II, Universal Pictures)