Under Pressure

My neighbour was having a garage sale, so I stopped by. We didn’t really need anything, which allowed me to talk myself into a few items without undue pressure.

I discovered a really great cordless drill set almost new for twenty bucks, and also a pressure washer for five.

“Imagine that,” I said “A two hundred dollar pressure washer for five bucks!” This is probably the sort of delusional thinking which leads deranged oddballs to think a lifetime of piling newspapers inside their homes, surrounded by cats, is a great idea.

Anyway, I told my wife all about the utility of a pressure washer, what an opportunity it was to save the family budget, and could I borrow some money to go pick it up? For some reason I did not tell her about the cordless drill package, which means I will now be forced to hide this edition of the newspaper so she doesn’t find out why she didn’t get her change back.

After some severe dickering with my neighbour (“I only got twenty bucks,” I said. “Just take both items then” he replied, filling me with boundless joy), I hurried home with my treasures.

I plugged in the drill’s charger unit and gently stroked the accessories, expressing my love for them quietly and tenderly, as guys do.

Since the washer did not come with instructions, I set about examining the thing. It plugged into the wall of course, and there were two hose attachments, but one of them looked funny. Not your average hose connector for some reason. No matter – I had a fifty/fifty chance of getting it right. In fact, I was certain of success since I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

I lugged it out to our patio and got the water hose connected to it, but the pressure wand hose was giving me trouble. There was your usual threaded hose bit on the end, but there was also a male part inside of it (Oh - this would be the pressure part...I get there eventually…) which I had never encountered before.

I couldn’t get this pressure fitting into the machine. It looked like it should fit, but it wouldn’t go.

I pushed and prodded to no avail. In a bid to save my back, I picked the infernal beast off the ground and put it on one of the deck chairs to better facilitate my efforts. Firmly grasping the hose in front of me I tried to push the infernal attachment into the hole using a series of partial knee bends and grunts.

Now lets pause here and imagine approaching me from the rear as I was attempting these maneuvers.

A large grunting man, arms in front of him, crouched over a deck chair, repetitively bending his knees while mildly cursing as he attempts to insert a hose into a small opening.

I appeared to be participating in some form of kinky, hose-related copulation with a lawn chair.

This was the visual my wife saw as she approached from behind me.

“What are you DOING?” she asked, alarmed.

“I’m trying to get this hose into the pressure washer!” I exclaimed. “It looks like it should fit but it won’t go in!”

“Are you sure you’re putting it in the correct hole?” she asked. “Maybe you’ve got the blow hole mixed up with the water hole” she said, observing.

“No, that’s not the problem. There’s a rubber ring on the end that won’t go in,” I explained. “I’ve never done this before and I’m all excited about using it but I can’t hold steady or push hard enough and it just won’t go in!” I gasped.

“Maybe it needs some lubrication,” she said, helpfully. “It probably hasn’t been used in a while.”

I wet the tip in it went! “Yahoo!” I cried. I turned the threaded thing to keep it in place and off I charged, vigorously spraying everything in sight.

I have concluded that this is the perfect guy-type tool - always available, ready quickly, and a great way to while away a lazy afternoon.

Pressure washing. What did you think I was talking about?

Pervert.