Control your pile

I'm taking Lisa to school; we are walking through a park.  We have to step over a line of leaves that runs across one of the main routes through the park.  There are sweepers about in blue vests; they are digging leaves into buckets.  

In our wood floor apartment, I prefer to sweep, while my wife prefers to vacuum.  She says it is because the vacuum gets the place cleaner. I feel that this is absolute hogwash– both the claim that  a vacuum gets a place cleaner, and that this is why she prefers the vacuum.  In truth she prefers the vacuum because she finds the broom difficult.  It is all about broom technique.  I get my broom technique from my father, who used to spend hours of every day sweeping our kitchen.   Eunjoo gets hers from her mother, who has no technique what-so-ever. In anything.

Broom technique is not so deep, allow me a simple hypothetical construction to see if you can tell the difference between skill with a broom, and the lack of it.

Some people sweep like they are shoveling the snow off an ice rink, making a line of detritus across the floor, and then when they are done, sweeping that line up.  Other people sweep like they are sweeping a floor that people walk on, and keep their pile compact and out of people's way– in a corner, or under the couch.

Guess which of these descriptions inevitably leads to someone yelling at people for walking through your pile and eliciting ones smart-assed husband to reply that if you are going to do something, you should do it properly.  

It think this is why Eunjoo prefers to vacuum– a vacuum has no pile, and so you don't have to control it.  Mind you, you still do become confused that the cord does not stretch to infinity, even if you pull it really hard. Cord control is the only issue with a vacuum cleaner. It seems a lower stress obstacle than pile control.

On my way back home from dropping Lisa off I go back through the park.  As I am taking the picture for this blog post, I am not looking at the ground, and walk through a sweeper's pile.  He looks at me exasperated, but maybe more scared. I'm not sure how I give that off, but sometimes it seems I do.   "Perhaps you should try a vacuum cleaner." I suggest, in as friendly a voice as I can.

"Hee, hee, hee," he giggles a forced laugh, scared to be talked to. "Hee, hee hee."  

"It'll be alright." I say.  "Not everyone can do simple things properly. Maybe ask her for some tips." I gesture to another blue vested sweeper who is sweeping her pile into a dust pan as she goes.  

"Hee hee hee.  Hee hee hee."