So named because I can hear her yelling at me in true Wanda Sykes fashion. “I know you’re not going to make me suck that!” (I don’t know if WS actually said that, exactly, but you can pretend in your head like she did.)
WD doesn’t like me. I make her vacuum weeks’ worth of dog hair pushed into the corners of the bedroom and hidden behind the doors. And I excuse my behavior by asserting that I live in an old house. It needs old stuff in it. Weeks-old dog hair IS old.
I make her vacuum up other gross things, like cat litter. And things she hates, like rabbit hay. She hates hay because the long strands get stuck in her hose and Wanda loses suction.
Wait! Dysons don’t lose suction.
Yes, that Dyson commercial lied – and now I’m going to get sued for libel. In my defense, the commercials said “never loses suction”. And it does lose suction. Well, not completely all the way, no. But it loses some suction.
Who here loves a good sucking? Raise your hand. Don’t be shy.
You want that Lego toy sucked just as much as you want the cat fur sucked. And none of it gets sucked when WD gets a throat full of hay.
Half sucked, sort of sucked, is like blue balls for housekeepers. Those poor housekeepers, they just want the task done. Nobody wants blue balls.* And we all know that rush we get when the hose releases its load and we’ve got some amazing suction once again. Ecstasy. AmIright?
But nothing sucks more than a Wanda that won’t suck.
She’s slowly toying with me. One day she’ll suck like a seasoned whore. I can tell when she’s sucking best just from the sounds she makes. She’s loud, mad. And then other days her loud noises are only whispered sweet nothings. Do I look like I need a nothing sucking? Probably not.
So, now, WD is refusing to do her required sucking on demand and I’m growing weary of her crappy work ethics. I’ve complained to other management here at Chateau Jeans and they stare at me in bewilderment. But my complaints have been overheard by WD and I think she’s unionizing.
I drove into work this week and you can imagine my confusion when I was greeted by two more floor cleaners waiting for me in the parking lot. Initially I thought that they belonged to the janitor but then I remembered that he sucks (not in a WD sort of way) and can’t even clean the toilets. And then my brain wondered if the landscaping dudes had left them but then the voice of my husband asked me if I honestly thought they were planning on vacuuming the grass. Shut up, voice of husband.
Did some pissed off teenagers drop them off? They wanted to be rid of chores forever?! It’s a good plan on paper.
Oh oh, it’s a Jets vs. Sharks thing, right? When you’re a Jet you’re a Jet all the way. Swiffer Jet? Shark Vacuum? No?
So then I realized these had to be associates of WD. And they were here to do her bidding. She’s pissed that I’ve been abusing her, demanding that she work.
These two were floor cleaning Union stewards. AKA her pimp and bodyguard (canister guard?).
I parked, and got out of the car. Then I did what any same person would do: walked quickly to the door and peeked around the corner from inside. They hadn’t moved. Whew, I was safe.
No one in the office bullpen mentioned the vacuums that day. Maybe they never noticed? Maybe they did and like to fuck with me (they would). Or maybe it was just me who saw Vacuum Pimp and I really am going nuts.
I went about my work day and forgot about them. When I left work they were waiting for me, melting in the sun. I hoped they dropped they’re shanks somewhere because there was no way that I was going to miss taking a photo of random vacuums in the parking lot.
I’m sure Wanda is going to blame me for the Great Vacuum Melt of 2016, and refuse to suck when it’s time to vacuum the front porch the next time I don’t feel like sweeping. Whatever, bitch. You’ll suck it and you’ll like it.
Two days later there was a murmur in the office about the vacuums. There was only one left. I think they got into a turf war with some mops and the second vacuum was likely tossed over the bridge.