Carpet cleaning was a nasty business

Carpet cleaning was a nasty business—especially during Frisbee season.


Every year, German hipsters would descend on our town to compete in the annual Hurl and Twirl. H/T 2010 was to be the biggest ever and the Germans had invaded a week early.

I don’t know why it was always Germans that came except that we were the only town that allowed an additional Schnitzel Schnarf. Basically, they competed to see who could eat the most schnitzel in one sitting and inevitably schnitzel bits would end up ground under their chairs and strewn about the competition area. And I don’t know whose bright idea it was to place the Schnitzel Schnarf scaffolding over white-carpeted stairs but there you have it—nastiest clean up ever.

They were generally backpackers too, which made everything worse. Transient, hungry beings that refused to speak to anyone who didn’t know what a “ziege” was, they were a constant nuisance. For some reason they liked to play with these ball things attached to a ribbon and throw them around themselves in arcs while listening to loud club music that blared out from oversized stereos. Apparently the MP3 had not been a hit in Germany. Perhaps if they’d named it VolksPlaya it would have done better.

Regardless here they were, congregating on stretches of pristine white carpet, throwing all manner of balls, Frisbees and schnitzel and making lots of overtime for me.

I’d finally had it up to here when I was scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain and I heard myself curse.
“Schiesse!”

I could not believe it. Not only was I departing from my normally tolerant self but I had started to speak their language! They had been here way too long. It was time for liberation.

Later that day as I was dragging my vacuum up over the scaffolding to suck up after the Schnitzel Schnarf I caught a glimpse of a tiny German posse below. Zere vere seban auf zem.

I mean there were seven of them!

Und zey looked wery sad.

Very sad! They looked very sad.

Well they should be sad! They deserved to be sad. People couldn’t just go around hopping from place to place leaving schnitzel in their wake and expect to be fulfilled. Take me, for instance. I had never been anywhere but here. I worked hard and always had something to do to keep me busy. Sometimes I was so busy I didn’t even have time to go home and see my family. Like now, when I had to clean up after these characters.

“Wie! You up zere!” called one of the seven.

“Vee haf lost our Frisbee und vee can’t compete unless vee find it.” All seven had started to climb up to me.

“I don’t know where it is! Now go away! I have to finish my work,” I shouted.

“But vee must compete! Zee vinner gets to meet David Hasselhof.”

“Who cares about the Hof?” I screamed.

I immediately regretted it. Seven pairs of eyes lit up with a fire of such intense personal and national offense I thought flames would shoot up the scaffolding to engulf me. I climbed higher to get out of reach of the flames but they were fueled by their love of the Hof and they climbed stronger and faster than Kit had driven in that episode where he helped David catch that bad guy.

I looked around for something that might help and my eyes came to rest on a red piece of cloth. I picked it up and saw that it was a red bathing suit shaped like Pamela Anderson. I quickly donned it and managed to blind the frontrunner in his climb. But it proved to be of no use as the six behind him pulled him back up like a gang of lifeguards in the sea of upright metal poles.

My only defense was to do the one thing I did not want to do. I knew that I would have to clean up after this in a big way but I would not let them take me down. I could see in their eyes that they were remembering how the Hof had single handedly sung down the Berlin wall and I knew my time was limited.

So I hauled my trusty Dyson onto the connecting rail beside me. I turned the switch at the back to reverse and I pointed it straight down the center of the German Invasion.

Before they could say “Octoberfest!” I shot them down in a rain of schnitzel bits.

As they lay at the bottom of the stairs to the Schnitzel Schnarf I began to suck up what used to be the bane of my existence but what had now turned into my saving grace. I had improved my opinion of schnitzel somewhat but I still had to clean it up and it looked like I’d be here all night.

It just goes to show you—Germans are just big hassle-hofs.