July 24, 2026
Once again smoke is blanketing the country. I wrote this story when I lived in the West, where this phenomenon is not uncommon. Now, everybody is getting the feel of it. So I’m resurrecting this story. I don’t remember when I wrote it, but I posted it on this blog in 2012.
Vacuum
The vacuum man was late.
At
first his absence didn’t worry anybody. Although a vacuum man had
arrived promptly at 8 a.m. every Thursday morning for the last 20 years,
people who noticed he was late merely thought, “Well, he’s always come,
so he’ll be here any time.” And they didn’t worry.
At 10:00, people started commenting, “Hey, the vacuum man is late. Do you suppose anything’s wrong?”
At 12:00, people started to worry about how his absence might affect their lives.
Cynthia
Estes, who was being married on Saturday, had planned her wedding down
to the last detail. But if the vacuum man didn’t come, her perfect day
would be ruined. The wedding might not even be able to take place.
Mrs.
O’Hara, who had promised her children a swimming party on Saturday as a
reward for making it through another school year, was less concerned on
logistical grounds—after all, they could have a swimming party any
time—than she was with disappointing her children, who were looking
forward to the party as a way to blow off steam after another tough year
of school.
The mothers of the other children, faced with the
possibility of having to entertain them instead of sending them to the
party, tried to resign themselves; but they hoped with all their might
that the vacuum man would show up in time and spare them the ordeal of
listening to their children complain all Saturday about how they wished
they were swimming at the O’Haras’ instead of being stuck at home all
day.
Human Resource Directors, although used to dealing with a
variety of catastrophes, still shuddered at the thought that the vacuum
man might not come in time. Every employee in the valley was guaranteed
two Fridays off a month; if the vacuum man didn’t come on Thursday, the
employees who were to be off this Friday might demand to get their day
off after the vacuum man had come, which would put the whole schedule
out of whack. You couldn’t blame them, but there was absolutely no way
to accommodate them. One HR Director even went so far as to draft a
“We’re all in this together” speech, accompanied by the offer of reduced
schedules on the day after the vacuum man had come, to help make up for
the lost Friday.
At 3:00, CEO’s started to get a little
nervous as well. Suppose the vacuum were seriously broken? Would traffic
be banned after a day or two? If employees couldn’t get to work, how
would they maintain production? What would happen to the bottom line?
At
3:30, Cynthia Estes’s mother, her nerves already thin from the wedding
preparations, snapped at her daughter, “I don’t know when he’s coming.
Go lie down!”
At 5:00, the TV stations ran news stories
asking, “Do we pay our vacuum men enough?” The human interest angle,
they felt, would sugar-coat the main thrust of their broadcasts, which
was to panic the population in the guise of disseminating news.
Cynthia Estes’s mother started calling her friends to see if anyone could spare a Valium.
People
who watched the news broadcasts wrote letters to the newspaper,
demanding that steps be taken so that the vacuum men would be assured of
fair payment for performing this vital job.
Judd Delaney,
this week’s vacuum man, was having a hard day himself. He had been
working on the vacuum since 6 a.m. (What a day to have forgotten his
cell phone!) At 8 a.m. he had started to swear, softly but steadily. By 3
p.m. he had a pounding headache and tension knots all through his
shoulders and back. The only bright spot in his day was the 5:00 news
broadcasts. Judd, who was amply paid, grinned at the pay question and
thought that, after all, it didn’t hurt for people to actually think
about the matter every now and then.
At 8:02 p.m. the Purevac
2300 started humming softly. Judd sighed with relief and maneuvered her
into position over the valley. Now people could have their clean air on
Friday and during the weekend. He’d have to work all night, but that
was better than making thousands of people have their Friday off in the
dirty air that was almost impossible to breathe.
At 8:12 p.m., the vacuum man finally arrived. And the people in the valley all breathed easier.
Anyone
who lives in a valley will be able to relate to this story. The air
gets stuck between the mountains and won't move, so the quality gets
worse and worse until a lot of wind comes through and clears it. But I
think that having a vacuum would be very helpful.
August 16, 2012
For
the past few days, the Treasure Valley has been having its worst air
quality in years—at one point the smoke from the wildfires was so thick
that everything looked hazy, not just objects in the distance. I’d
really love to have an air purifier for the whole valley.
August 17, 2015
Reality
check: In the story, I wrote that the kids couldn't attend a pool party
because of the bad air. A friend in Idaho just wrote that they can't go
to the pool lately because the air quality is horrible. See? It's not
just fiction!
December 1, 2015: Looks like a vacuum isn't such a crazy idea after all!
http://news.yahoo.com/this-is-a-brick-made-from-the-dust-in-beijings-110342416.html
