A few years ago, I decided to break down and buy a vacuum that could actually survive more than a few minutes of work without clogging, breaking, or needing to be replaced. After much research (albeit ignoring Consumer Reports), I purchased a Dyson DC07 that looks much like this:
I read the accompany documentation (none), but was able to progress right along because of the witty little pictures molded into the plastic exterior of my new friend. We set right to work, trying to find fault with one another. Other than possibly outweighing me, we had much to love about one another.
My new friend could suck like no other, had logical attachments that were simple to use, a beater-bar that automatically stopped spinning when standing upright, and a rabid appetite for dust bunnies and fur. I love this about my friend.
Then, years later, I noticed that my friend was starting to smell um...not so fresh. A scent of dog permeated the Dyson's exterior (and interior). I had to help. For the good of our friendship.
So, I began by bathing the cannister in warm soaping water. I heard purring. I cleaned out the base of the cyclone. I heard a moan. Then, I noticed that the filter housing had an easy-release button. I pushed it. It came out. The filter popped from the housing, exhaling loudly and displaying a series of photos demonstrating how to give it a bath. Under the faucet it went. Down the drain went, not the recommended 6 months of particles, but a few years worth. When I was done, the filter lay exhausted and quivering in the dish drainer for a specified 12 hour downtime before returning to the mother ship.
So, ever the researcher, I decided that perhaps there were some instructions in print form that might help in the care and feeding of my friend. And lookie what I found:
A Manual
Wow. I love you Internet. You never disappoint - well except that one time when you showed my 10 year old some inappropriate stuff. But, we've worked through that. I blame it on your bad-boy streak.
I read the accompany documentation (none), but was able to progress right along because of the witty little pictures molded into the plastic exterior of my new friend. We set right to work, trying to find fault with one another. Other than possibly outweighing me, we had much to love about one another.My new friend could suck like no other, had logical attachments that were simple to use, a beater-bar that automatically stopped spinning when standing upright, and a rabid appetite for dust bunnies and fur. I love this about my friend.
Then, years later, I noticed that my friend was starting to smell um...not so fresh. A scent of dog permeated the Dyson's exterior (and interior). I had to help. For the good of our friendship.
So, I began by bathing the cannister in warm soaping water. I heard purring. I cleaned out the base of the cyclone. I heard a moan. Then, I noticed that the filter housing had an easy-release button. I pushed it. It came out. The filter popped from the housing, exhaling loudly and displaying a series of photos demonstrating how to give it a bath. Under the faucet it went. Down the drain went, not the recommended 6 months of particles, but a few years worth. When I was done, the filter lay exhausted and quivering in the dish drainer for a specified 12 hour downtime before returning to the mother ship.
So, ever the researcher, I decided that perhaps there were some instructions in print form that might help in the care and feeding of my friend. And lookie what I found:
A Manual
Wow. I love you Internet. You never disappoint - well except that one time when you showed my 10 year old some inappropriate stuff. But, we've worked through that. I blame it on your bad-boy streak.
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