Death Rattle

I am graced with having inherited the worlds most abused air purifier.

See, my father was a smoker. The man smoked for at least 65 years, and loved every damn minute of it. Towards the end, I was encouraging him to smoke as it was one of the few pleasures he still had in life--as much as I discouraged him STRONGLY from smoking while he was still hooked up to oxygen. (Strangely enough, he was on oxygen NOT from a smoking related problem. He was a dialysis patient, and old, and was experiencing congestive heart problems, fluid on lungs causing diminished capacity and so on. And before you all berate me for encouraging a man with lung capacity problems to smoke, lets all remember that he was over 80 years old and things were looking rather....grim on several fronts. In my opinion, once you reach 80, if you want to have a damn cigarette and a stiff drink at the end of the day, no one should tell you no, least of all your 24 year old child. I think he had earned the right, raising 4 red haired daughters, having two red haired wives and fighting in two wars, and so on.) (And yes, dad smoked with the oxygen hooked up. We often had the "dad, if you want to go out in a literal blaze of glory, could you please do that somewhere other than here, and without your present company? Thanks." talk.)

Anyway, dad smoked. A lot. He didn't care where he was or who he was with--he would have smoked on an elevator filled with newborns if he could. He smoked in the house, in the car, everywhere he legally could. His girlfriend, well, she was a reformed smoker. You all know the type--they have quit, and therefore are now devoted to making your smokers life a living hell--all to extend your life another ten minutes in which to hate them. (I'm not sure if Bill Hicks or Dennis Leary said that first. Or David Sedaris. All smokers, btw.) Anyway, she made dad leap through hoops of discomfort to smoke--and in response, he purchased an air purifier in hopes of literally clearing the air in the house so that she could come visit and he could still merrily puff away.

This poor, poor machine.

I have cleaned the filter on this purifier weekly since I lived here. Anyone who wants to think about quitting should do this job. COVERED in a sticky, resinous, brackish film that stains and stinks. My lungs quiver with excitement just thinking about it.

Anyway, dad was content to never clean it. "Just so long as it gets the stink out!" he would announce as I stared at the exit screen, now stained brown. The first time I cleaned this filter it had not been done for god knows how long. I quit smoking for six months afterwards.

Anyway, when dad went on oxygen, I demanded that no one smoke in the house for any reason due to the risk of, oh, explosion. Dad listened long enough for me to stop talking. Everyone else went outside. I stopped using the air purifier as 1)I didn't think we would need it and 2)It began throwing off sparks.

That's right, sparks. It would crackle and bang and emit high pitched screeches, then a small shower of fireworks. Again, not conducive to an O2 rich environment, so I unplugged it and cut my losses.

Since dad has passed on, we still smoke outside. I have since washed the film of nicotine off most surfaces in the house, cleaned the carpets and drapes, and covered everything with a layer of Febreeze and laundry.

I thought last week, as I was becoming sick, of reviving the air purifier. With a good, thorough douching and a now better work environment, it could cut the allergens down in the house--making T's and my life much easier. That is, if I could revive it.

I douched. I scrubbed. I patiently vacuumed the lint and dust out of the intakes. I held hope in my heart for this hard working machine.

I plugged it in, turned it on....and it worked! Hooray! Pleased with myself, I left it on in the bedroom for a few days.

T and I both experienced dry sinuses and nosebleeds. I shut it off.

Today I decided to turn it on before bed--(notice that I am not sleep blogging.)and was rewarded with a new found problem with the air purifier.

Rhythmic screeching, banging, and a strange thumping. No sparks.

I took it apart, examined the fan, the filter, the intake and blower. Nothing.

I put it back together, and turned it on.

A howl, then nothing. I waited.

I got in bed. Small thump, a series of clicks, then a howl that was like something out of a horror movie. I got up, I turned it off.

THE HOWLING CONTINUED.

I was horrified. I imagined some small animal being trapped inexplicably in the tiny fan at the top, slowly being killed by allergen removal. I unplugged it.

Slowly, the howling ground to a stop.

Again, I took it apart. No animal. Nothing I could see.

Plugged it back in, turned it on. It coughed, sputtered, let out an asthmatic wheeze, and commenced with the howling.

I tore the cord out of the wall, flipped it upside down, opened it up and shook it. Nothing. I slapped the sides. Nothing.

I turned it on again. Howling. I punched it. I punched it again.

A glob of....Something flew out. Nicotine, tar, dust, allergens, the Hope Diamond and lost city of Atlantis, I speculate.

It is now merrily purifying away behind me.

This just goes to show several things:

Punching stuff that is broken works sometimes.

Smoking continually in front of your air purifier is a really bad idea.

Smoking makes things sticky and gross--Lungs, anyone?

A combination of nicotine, tar, dust, allergens, treasure and anthropological speculation does in fact float when hurled into a toilet.

This has been a long winded public service announcement by yours truly. We will now go back to bitching continually about inane bullshit. Thanks for tuning in.