[ CW ] On a whim , Stan decided to buy a neon `` OPEN '' sign and hang it in his front window . Soon after , visitors start arriving- asking Stan and his wife Claire for help ...

Chuck stared at the neon green “ Open ” sign glowing in the window ahead of him. It was a strange place for a vacuum repair shop, considering it was quite literally the middle of an apartment complex, but he didn ’ t exactly have the time to go much further. His vacuum was clearly on the verge of death and the fact that a shop had opened up across the hall from his home was nothing short of a miracle. 
 
 Chuck wandered up to the door beside the glowing “ Open ” sign, then lifted his fist and softly rapped it against the wooden door. It looked almost exactly the same as his, light blue with flakes of chipped paint doing their best to curl toward the floor, except for a small hand-made turkey drawn below the peep hole. It wasn ’ t a particularly nice turkey, in fact it was quite unrealistic. He ’ d never seen a turkey that so clearly resembled a human hand. Nonetheless, it was still better than he could do, and he recognized that it was more intended as a “ we repair vacuums ” sign than a traditional “ hand turkey. ” 
 
 The doorknob twisted to life, turning left and right before stopping. Chuck could hear someone struggling with some sort of deadbolt or chain lock behind the door, muttering various insults at what he assumed was a poorly behaved mechanism. The knob again resumed twisting before finally allowing the door to open. 
 
 “ Yes? ” said a man, pulling the door open and stepping forward slightly. He didn ’ t look much like a vacuum repair man, dressed in a navy blue robe with messy, unwashed hair. If anything, he looked more like a middle-aged man-child that had only recently gotten out of bed at the early hour of 7:10pm. Then again, Chuck had very limited experience with vacuum repair men and even less with their attire. For all he knew, this was simply their outfit. 
 
 “ Hello, ” Chuck said, pulling his vacuum up so that it rested just in front of his feet. “ I ’ m Chuck. ” 
 
 “ Can I help you? ” said the man, distorting his face slightly and tilting his head. It looked almost as if he was caught off-guard by Chuck standing there with a vacuum in his hand, waiting expectantly for the man to grab it and work his magic. 
 
 “ Yes, I saw you were open and wanted to stop by, ” Chuck said, nodding toward the neon green “ Open ” sign. 
 
 “ I think you ’ re a bit mistaken, ” the man said, peering forward slightly and glancing at the sign. He returned his gaze to Chuck. “ That ’ s just something I picked up yesterday. ” 
 
 “ It looks great, ” Chuck said, nodding. He pushed his vacuum cleaner forward slightly. “ Anyway, this is broken. ” 
 
 “ Cool, ” the man said, again distorting his face. Chuck had never met a vacuum repair man so confused by vacuum cleaners. His was admittedly rather old, it was possible he ’ d never seen such a model before. The guy did look pretty young. 
 
 “ How much will it be? ” Chuck said, again pushing the vacuum cleaner forward and waiting for the man to grab it. 
 
 “ Will what be? ” 
 
 “ The repair, I really need this fixed. I have a big night ahead of me. ” 
 
 “ I ’ m sorry? ” the man said, staring down at the vacuum cleaner. 
 
 “ Yeah, I like to vacuum my apartment on Saturday nights. Usually from 7pm to about 3am. I try to get to every imaginable spot, which—as I ’ m sure you are aware—takes a very long time. 
 
 “ That ’ s you? You ’ re the guy who vacuums every damn weekend? ” 
 
 “ Guilty as charged, ” Chuck smiled. It was nice to meet a fan, especially someone so well-versed in vacuums as he. 
 
 “ You can ’ t just vacuum at, say, any hour before midnight? ” 
 
 “ I find it works best when I start later. Anyway, I ’ m having a bit of trouble with Charlotte over here, ” he said, nodding at the vacuum. He ’ d named her after the spider in *Charlotte ’ s Web*, which was one of his all-time least favorite books. It was irritating to constantly be reminded of the horrid novel every time Saturday rolled around, but it wasn ’ t like he could just change Charlotte ’ s name. It was too late for that, old dogs and tricks and all that jazz. 
 
 “ That ’ s good? ” the man said, reaching for the door. 
 
 “ Would you mind taking a look? I imagine it has something to do with the suction. Or maybe the lack thereof. Definitely something wrong somewhere, ” Chuck said. He wasn ’ t a vacuum repair man, per se, but his evenings spent cleaning had taught him a thing or two about the inner-working of the device. 
 
 “ What? Why on Earth would I do that? ” 
 
 “ Because, ” Chuck said, glancing down at his watch, “ It ’ s 7:14pm right now, which means I ’ ve got less than two hours before vacuuming begins. ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t see how that ’ s relevant, ” the man said, staring at the vacuum. 
 
 “ You ’ re the only guy capable of repairing Charlotte. I need you to get her working again. If I try to go down to the mall and meet with one of those fancy repair guys, I won ’ t get her working until tomorrow at the very earliest. I ’ ve heard great reviews about your shop, ” Chuck said. He ’ d actually never heard so much as a passing mention of this repair shop, but he certainly wasn ’ t afraid to sprinkle on a complement or two to get things moving. “ It looks beautiful, by the way. ” 
 
 “ You don ’ t seem to understand, ” the man said. “ This is not a repair shop. ” 
 
 “ Then why are you ‘ Open? ’ ” Chuck said, pointing to the neon green sign. 
 
 “ I told you, I just got that yesterday. ” 
 
 “ And it ’ s still gorgeous. ” 
 
 “ It ’ s just a sign, ” the man said. “ I ’ m not a repair shop. ” 
 
 “ And the turkey on the door? ” Chuck said, nodding toward the crudely-drawn hand-turkey below the peephole. 
 
 “ That ’ s a turkey, ” the man said. “ My kid made it in his Kindergarten class. ” 
 
 “ Oh, ” Chuck said, nodding slowly and lowering his eyes down toward the vacuum by his feet. He ’ d clearly made a terrible embarrassing mistake, assuming the gentleman in front of him was a vacuum repair man. Now that he thought about it through a bit more, it didn ’ t really make much sense. The way he dressed, his hair, his complete and utter confusion at the mere sight of an uninvited vacuum: he wasn ’ t a repair man at all, he was just some guy in a bathrobe. “ I see. ” 
 
 “ Thanks for stopping by ” the man said, slowly beginning to close the door, his face distorted in an I-just-ate-something-rancid expression. 
 
 “ Wait, ” Chuck said, reaching out and stopping the door with his hand before it shut. “ Is your son home? ” 
 
 “ I ’ m sorry? ” the man said, stopping. 
 
 “ Your son, I need him to fix my vacuum. ” 
 
 The man stared at Chuck, his head tilted to the right as he eyed him up and down, almost as if it were strange for a 43-year-old man to be standing outside his door on a Saturday night, asking for his Kindergarten aged child to repair his vacuum cleaner. 
 
 “ Fine, ” he said, sighing. “ I ’ ll get him. But he ’ s not supposed to do any repairs on Saturdays. ” 
 
 “ Thank you, ” Chuck said, smiling and pushing the vacuum closer to the door. He watched as the man turned and disappeared around the corner behind him. With any luck, he'd be back in his own apartment within the hour, prepping the area for a relaxing night of vacuuming, a newly repaired Charlotte by his side. Or rather directly in front of him as he vacuumed into the early morning. 

