I Never Guessed Billy Mays Was Telling The Truth

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Out of work once again, so I've been putting in a lot of time around the house -- mostly trying not to go crazy.

I hit a great streak working for my cousin Pepe.  He owns a General Contracting company out of Highland Park, and I called him looking for a carpenter's gig last March.  Timing was perfect, cause he said he had a few weeks work for me starting the next week.  Turned into more than seven months!  Things slowed down, and I got laid off.  Good run, anyway.

That stint reactivated my Carpenter's Union health insurance, which gave Robin a chance to have her long-delayed shoulder surgery.  She needed three months off work for her recovery, and, as luck would have it, that came right when I got laid off.  Ironic? Or just a bummer?  Either way it worked out well.

Meanwhile, my Dad had a knee-replacement surgery, and Robin and I tag-teamed to keep him on the mend.  So we were pretty busy, despite being "out of work."

But the last month has been spent pretty much staying out of each others' hair.  She's back to work now, so I have to step up my efforts to look productive around here.  It's Hell on the self-image to see your wife bringing home the bacon when all you're doing is the dishes and walking the dog.  Plus watching People's Court twice a day.

Anyway, to get to the point of this blog, I was at Sam's Club this Monday getting oil for my smoky little Honda Civic.  After getting some culinary delights (Bagel Bites) I headed to the check-out counter, the worst part of the Sam's Club experience -- motto "Where Customer Service Goes To Die."  En route I saw a mountain of "Oxy-Clean Concentrate" boxes. I stopped and stared.

Now for God knows how long, I've watched Billy Mays and later other hucksters, as they shouted all about this crap.  At one point, when it was pretty new, I was in a hardware store when a woman breathlessly asked the older clerk when she could find Oxy-Clean.  "We're all out -- won't have any until Friday."  The woman was crushed.

When she left, I asked the guy what's so special about Oxy-Clean.  "Nothing.  But when someone shouts about a product on TV, people flock in here to buy it up."  So my opinion was cast: Oxy-Clean is a bunch of hype.  I jeered at the commercials for years.

This all went through my head as I looked at the huge pile of Oxy-Clean boxes.  This shit's been around a while -- maybe it really does work. 

Our laundry has been plagued with a mystery for the past 10 years or so.  Virtually every shirt we own eventually comes down with spots.  They look like grease spots, but there's no rhyme or reason to their location.  Not food spills (on the shoulder?) Not auto grease (on the back?) Not crayons (no kids in the house at this time.)  We thought at one time it could be pine tar -- when I mow the lawn, pine cones and little pine shoots would occasionally get in my clothes.  We thought they may leach their tar into the clothes in the wash.

So I worked up a lawn-mowing outfit -- some overalls and a couple of old shirts, and never washed them with our other clothes, or even in our own laundry. But the stains keep showing up.

Flash forward to Monday.  There I am in Sam's Club with my cart and my Pennzoil and my Bagel Bites, slack jawed in awe in front of a display of Oxy-Clean.  The Heavens open, a choir of Angels burst forth in song... and some lady breaks the reverie by bumping my cart out of her way.  My bad.  I grabbed a box of Oxy-Clean and went to the check out.

I got home and read the directions.  One gallon of hot water, fill the scoop to between line 2 and line 4, mix it up, put in the stained clothes, stir, soak six hours. Wash normally. Simple.

Now because of these stains that appear, Robin and I have triaged our shirts.  One group we can wear in public, one group I can wear to work (carpenters are almost expected to look like slobs anyway,) and one group we can wear at home when no one is coming over to visit.  I selected four of the worst offenders and tried out the Oxy-Clean. Filled the scoop to line 3, poured it into hot water, added the clothes and set the timer.  Six hours later, I threw them in the washer and let her rip...

And I'll be damned, it worked.  All but one shirt was perfect.  The forth had a shadow of a stain remaining.

Robin was so impressed she went and got her favorite Blackhawks Jersey.  It had two stains that looked like rust or spaghetti sauce, but were neither.  And they'd been set in that Jersey for several years.  I tried it again, this time filling the scoop to line 4.  In went the jersey, two more stained shirts, and the 4th shirt from the first attempt. Away I went.

When Robin saw her Blackhawks jersey, the Heavens once again opened and a choir of Angels burst into song... I had rescued her favorite Hawks jersey! Me and Billy Mays!

So a belated thank you to Billy -- thank you and Rest in Peace.

Now let me at those other shirts!