What the Pet Hair Eraser Learned
The Bissell Pet Hair Eraser arrived in a box on a Tuesday. BW ordered it because the golden retriever—we don't have a dog, by the way, we have a golden retriever named Murphy who exists in a permanent state of shedding—had somehow managed to clog the upright Dyson again. The Eraser was supposed to be the solution. Cordless. Lightweight. Handheld. The product description used the word "powerful" four times.
I pulled it out of the packaging like it was made of something that mattered.
It worked great for exactly six days. This is not hyperbole. I counted. On day one, I used it on the couch. On days two through five, I used it on the car seats because Murphy rides everywhere and the regular vacuum can't fit between the cushions. On day six, the child found it in the hall closet.
She did not ask permission. This is how the child operates. She moves through the house like a small contractor with her own agenda and no budget constraints.
By the time I found her, she had already removed the dustbin (which she had emptied onto the kitchen tile), inserted a Sharpie into the intake valve, and was working on something with the power button that I still don't fully understand. The Eraser was making a sound it was not designed to make. A grinding sound. A betrayed sound.
BW came in, assessed the situation in about two seconds, and told the child to go upstairs. No yelling. Just the tone that means something has been decided and it is final. The child went. The Eraser remained on the counter, the Sharpie still wedged in its innards like a tiny spear.
I tried to fix it. Took the whole thing apart. Some markers don't have caps, you understand. This one had rolled under the refrigerator at some point in the child's process. I found it there, next to a french fry from 2019 and a Cheerio that had somehow fossilized. The marker's tip was destroyed. The Eraser's intake port would never be quite right again.
It still turns on. It still pulls air. But there's a rattle now. A low, persistent complaint. I use it anyway because BW paid two hundred dollars for this thing and we don't throw equipment away just because it's been sabotaged by a seven-year-old with a Sharpie and a complete disregard for the consequences of curiosity.
Murphy still sheds. The Eraser still works. The Sharpie is locked in the junk drawer in the garage, and the Eraser sits in the hall closet, waiting, already afraid.
If you liked this story about the Bissell Pet Hair Eraser Handheld Vacuum, you can buy your own on Amazon. Remember, we're BFF if you do.