December 1, 2007

• Carpet Cleaning

  We had our carpets cleaned today in preparation for the holidays, and the two boys who did the work did a very good job.  It was Stanley Steemer, and we’ve used them several times in the past.  The last time we had the carpets cleaned, we had a meeting of the people on our Mardi Gras float at our house that night.  It was in November, and some friends/fellow float riders brought us a couple of bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau that had just come out that week.  Beaujolais Nouveau is legendary, and it’s red.  You guessed it.  I turned over a full glass of Beaujolais Nouveau on the cleaned-that-day carpet in our living room.  The carpet had been Scotchguarded, so I was able to pat up the wine without leaving a stain, but who spills a whole glass of red wine on beige carpet the day it was cleaned?

  
  

  The Stanley Steemer boys this morning were a study in contrasts.  The crew chief was, maybe, twenty-five.  He was tall and a little on the stocky side.  Well, actually…he was fat.  The other boy was, maybe, twenty?  Nineteen?  He was short, and he was skinny. 

  
  

  I said something about wanting clean carpets because our granddaughter, Liza, thinks nothing of eating food off the floor.  Not that we have food on the floor in our house, but she’ll drop something, pick it up, and pop that sucker right into her mouth.  We always say “yuk” when she does that, she says “yuk,” too, and then she laughs.  I don’t think we’re making much progress on that front. 

  
  

  “My son does the same thing,” the younger boy said.

  
  

  “How old is your son?” I asked.

  
  

  “He’s three and a half,” he said. 

  
  

  Three and a half.  That means you must have been very young when you knocked up that girl, I thought, but, of course, I didn’t say anything.

  
  

  “Are you married,” I asked.  He wasn’t wearing a ring of any sort.

  
  

  “Yes, sir, I’ve been married for almost three years,” he said.

  
  

  I asked the older boy if he has children.

  
  

  “No.  I want to get married first,” he said.

  
  

  “Oh.  See, I saw that wedding ring you’re wearing, and I thought you were married,” I said.

  
  

  “No, sir.  That’s not a wedding ring.  That’s a purity ring.”

  
  

  The younger boy had a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket; the older boy didn’t.  They weren’t exactly Mutt and Jeff, but that’s a good analogy.

  
  

  Those boys have totally different lives.  And different values.  They work together as a very efficient team, but I wondered what they talk about as they drive around the city from appointment to appointment.  They were both in uniform, so they were dressed alike, but I can’t imagine a less likely duo.  I’ll bet they’re not best friends outside of work.

  
  

  ED

  • 6:42 am
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