I Rest My Case

I Rest My Case

“Your Honor, I would like the court to understand that none of it, including the shooting, was my fault. I was certainly present, which I admit does not look ideal. Still, presence and responsibility are two very different things, as anyone who has ever attended a town meeting can appreciate.

“No, ma’am, I do not need or want an attorney. I have chosen to represent myself. Although, my daughter, bless her heart, believed the decision was a terrible idea. She said that judges prefer answers that travel in straight lines. Unfortunately, my thoughts go the way of old dogs when you take them outside. They wander, sniff things, and occasionally they sit down and refuse to move.

“Yes, ma’am, I did ask my daughter to come with me today, but unfortunately, she said she didn’t feel well because she had a popcorn kernel caught between her teeth. And I will heed your advice and stick to the facts.

“I wrote everything down. I just need to find my glasses.

“Oh, jeepers, you are so astute – I am wearing them.

“Got it - time is finite. I’m moving on to the shooting.

“Let me check my notes. At my age, if you don’t write things down, memories can disappear behind the refrigerator along with strange night sounds, and missing Tupperware lids.

“Ah, yes. Here we are. February twenty-third. Nine forty-five in the morning. I was at the Appliance Depot. You know the one, on Chestnut Drive next to Taco Bell?

“The facts, Your Honor, are that I live on a fixed income, and that sharpens a person’s decisions. Every purchase becomes a small philosophical debate. You stand in the store aisle for an infinite amount of time you can’t spare, asking yourself whether the object at hand will earn its keep or sit around like an unemployed cousin.

“So, when I saw a vacuum cleaner called the Dirt Demon reduced from one hundred ninety-nine dollars to ninety-nine dollars, I believed I was witnessing one of those rare moments when commerce and mercy briefly shake hands. So, I bought it.

“I’d like to present this box and its contents as Exhibit A.

“Oh dear, we’re not doing exhibits. Hmmm. Okay.

“In retrospect, the name should’ve been a warning. Dirt Demon is not the sort of title that suggests calm domestic cooperation. But the box was bright red and cheerful, the way carnival rides look just before the bolts begin loosening.

“It also made promises. The box said the machine was as powerful as an elephant. I’ve never vacuumed with a pachyderm, but at the zoo they appear to approach their work with sincere conviction.

“Yes, Your Honor, I’m getting to my point. The box also claimed the vacuum could pick up lug nuts. If lug nuts appeared on my parlor floor, I would assume either a mechanic had broken into the house, or my furniture had come apart while I slept.

“I brought the vacuum home and unpacked it in my living room, where the noon daylight was coming through the curtains in long stripes that made the dust visible. Dust looks almost beautiful in sunlight, which is perhaps the only charitable thing one can say about it.

“Yes, yes, I’m getting to the shooting.

“I assembled the pieces according to the diagram, although it had clearly been drawn by someone who did not expect the viewer to be wearing trifocals and holding the page at arm’s length.

“I plugged the thing in and turned it on. It sounded just like a vacuum but that’s where the similarities ended. Nothing happened. I tried again with equal results.

“I’m not talking about stubborn debris such as gravel or sand. I am talking about lint. Ordinary lint. Hair. Fuzz. The sort of stuff that normally leaps into a vacuum hose like glitter off a craft table. This machine didn’t pick up a single speck.

“I stood there looking at the floor for a moment, and it occurred to me that when you reach a certain age, you spend a surprising portion of your life looking downward. Floors, stairs, pills, instructions printed in letters too small to read.

“Yes, ma’am, I will get to the blood. But blood rarely appears without some prelude.

“When the vacuum failed to collect air itself, I leaned down and spoke directly into the nozzle. I said, very calmly, ‘Come on now,’ as though encouragement might improve its morale. Didn’t help.

“This vacuum had less sucking action than my neighbor’s Pug with a head cold. And that dog once inhaled an entire meatball without pausing to chew.

“One last chance. Got it. Thank you.

“So, I decided to perform a final test and reached for one of the smaller attachments on my desk. In the process, I knocked my darn stapler to the floor.

“The staples scattered like tiny silver commas in an unfortunate sentence. My fingers, which have opened jars, buttoned tiny grandbabies coats, and wrote long, lovely letters to friends, are no longer suited to gathering such things individually.

“I guided the Dirt Demon across the staples. The machine rolled over them the way a grocery cart rolls over a parking lot pebble.

“Therefore, I was forced to stuff dozens of sharp staples into the up-righted nozzle, one by one, as if the vacuum was a glorified trash bin. I reached what I believed was a reasonable scientific conclusion. I'd bought a lemon from a coconut.

“I packed the machine back into the box and returned to Appliance Depot, straightaway. I also brought a bag of garden dirt. I intended to prove the vacuum’s poor performance scientifically. I watch those programs all the time, especially SUV.

“Silly me, of course, I meant SVU and not a vehicle, thank you, Your Honor, for the clarification.

“Anyway, I found the young man who sold me the vacuum. The one with so many piercings, he looked like he’d fallen face-first into a tackle box.

“I said politely, ‘Sir, this vacuum doesn’t suck.’

“He laughed and said, ‘Happy to hear it.’ And not politely, I might add.

“I explained that I was using the word in its technical sense.

“He then informed me that returns were not allowed because I had already used the merchandise. He pointed to the warranty card and said it should have been mailed before returning the merchandise.

“I told him that would require ownership of a time machine.

“He produced a magnifying glass and directed my attention to a line of print so small it appeared to have been written by an ant.

“It said that for what they call hard-to-clean areas, one must purchase an additional attachment. That attachment cost a hundred dollars.

“I asked him what exactly the vacuum cleaned without that attachment.

“He said ‘Light dust.’ Light dust? Your Honor, if dust becomes any lighter, it wouldn’t be here at all!

“Of course, moving forward, I shall watch my tone.

“So, I asked to speak with his manager. He informed me that he was the manager, which was the moment my faith in retail institutions suffered a noticeable collapse.

“Yes, yes, I am getting to the shooting and subsequent blood.

“This salesperson took it upon himself to tell me I was probably using it all wrong. How dare he? I was around when the vacuum was invented!

“He proceeded to take it apart - separating the hose to see if he could see through to the other side. He checked out what he referred to as the chassis, then he reconnected the hose. He smirked as I poured a small and very orderly amount of garden dirt onto the floor. I do have couth.

“When he plugged the vacuum into the outlet and flippantly turned it on – face to nozzle, something extraordinary happened. This vacuum cleaner, which didn’t suck, suddenly revealed that it possessed an impressive ability to blow.

“The staples from my earlier manual clean-up, shot out of the hose like metallic confetti. Several of them struck the sales guy directly in the face. Ergo, the brief hospitalization.

“Yes, Your Honor, I will now give a closing argument.

“When one considers innocence and the facts, here is what we know in this case.

“The salesman placed the hose on the wrong end of the canister, looked directly into the nozzle, and then turned it on. So, I ask the court, where exactly does responsibility lie?

“If we are being honest and judicious about all this, he shot himself.