How are you? I'm not fine.
Yesterday, I was using your lovely vacuum that I bought sixteen months ago. I really loved using it....really. I used it several times a week, vacuuming up cat hair, dust bunnies, Cheerios, spider carcasses, gobs of unidentified deitrus. It worked like a champ; I particularly loved the hepa-filter and bagless cannister - I'd liked to see all the gross stuff being dumped into the garbage can. (I'm weird that way.)
You'll notice I wrote that in past tense. Loved. Used.
See, your piece of shit vacuum broke yesterday. And it wasn't the motor, engine, life-time hepa filter, brush, hose, etc.
It was the plastic foot lever that turns it on. When I stepped on it, the whole piece snapped off like a stale Triscuit.
I swore loudly. Mightily. I examined it. Could I fix it? Nay.... I could not. It broke in such a way that I couldn't even stick a screwdriver down there to flip it on.
If I didn't know better, I'd swear that the whole thing was planned that way.
I examined the warranty, which was only for a year. The year had passed. I looked closer - it didn't include "normal wear and tear"
Normal wear and tear?
Now, I'm not some gigantic wildebeest, angrily stomping on my vacuum with cloven hoofs. But I already knew that my breaking your shittily foreign made plastic piece of horse poop you call a vacuum would result in the classification of "normal wear and tear".
Henceforth, I will never buy another Hoover.
I hope Santa takes a poo in your stocking.