Okay, so it isn't really a vacuum cleaner, its a sweeper. A small robotic sweeper that churns and spins and somehow feels like a little worker bee family member.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
We bought our little sweeper a couple of months ago when our large lumbering tank of a vacuum cleaner finally decided it had sucked up its last fluffy cat hair. Realistically I think it had made that decision quite some time ago but I kept pushing it, literally, to go on living. I mean its purpose in life was sucking up stuff. But it got tired. Things stopped working like they were supposed to. Some of its parts started inching toward the ground.
We bought our little sweeper a couple of months ago when our large lumbering tank of a vacuum cleaner finally decided it had sucked up its last fluffy cat hair. Realistically I think it had made that decision quite some time ago but I kept pushing it, literally, to go on living. I mean its purpose in life was sucking up stuff. But it got tired. Things stopped working like they were supposed to. Some of its parts started inching toward the ground.
Wait...maybe I'm thinking of myself.
Anyway, the point is, the vacuum cleaner was done. It had lived its life. Nearly 25-years ago, when we first bought our house, Steve's father bought it for us. It was nice and sturdy and heavy duty. So heavy duty, in fact, carrying it up and down the stairs felt similar to hauling a small adult up and down the stairs. It did its job, cheerfully, I assume, sucking up the various and sundry messes created by the ever increasing occupants of our little house.
I vacuumed a lot in those days. Not because I particularly liked vacuuming but because I particularly didn't like seeing things on the carpet that weren't part of the carpet. Kids. Animals. Life. Things just got messy. A lot.
The kids are gone now and our house doesn't get so messy anymore. The orignial carpet is long gone too, but we still have lots of animals. Lots of animals who shed lots of hair that collects in rodent-like clumps and tufts in corners of the unforgiving wood floors. When the albatross of a vacuum cleaner died recently I decided to buy one of those little robot doodads. My plan was to program it to run every day just before I got home from work. That way the various wads of pet hair would be all gone before I walked in the door. Like having a maid. Only without the guilt.
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| (Source: Google Images) |
We brought the robot home and turned it on. It was sort of fascinating. Mesmerizing, in fact. It spun and whirred and criss crossed around the room while we just watched. After about an hour it decided it was finished, headed back to its charger, docked itself, and turned itself off.
Weird.
The robot sweeper does its job every day now. Being home while it runs is a little disconcerting. I constantly feel that I'm getting in its way. I apologize. One day Charles came over when we were preparing to have guests for brunch and the robot was doing its thing. I asked Charles to set the table and as he did so he kept shrieking that the robot was following him. I told him he was being ridiculous. But it sort of seemed like he was right.
Occasionally I come home from work to find the robot hasn't found its way back to the dock but has instead done battle with an electrical cord, a dog leash, or some other erroneous hazard and shut itself off mid-sweep. When this happens I speak kindly to it, disentangle it, and gently put it back in its dock, all the while assuming it feels badly for not completing the task.
Except, of course, I don't have to apologize for getting in its way, it wasn't chasing Charles, and it doesn't feel bad when it shuts itself off. It doesn't have the capacity for human emotion. Its a ROBOT.
My little robot can spin around the house all day but never once will it feel unappreciated. I can get in its way while its running and it simply changes course without ever feeling I'm being rude. When I find it in a predicament and safely return it to its dock it hasn't ever uttered, 'thank you.' No matter how much anthropomorphism I attach to it, in the end its just a device. It does its job (well, I might add) but nothing more.
I suppose it seems pretty crazy to write a story about a robotic gizmo scurrying around my house. It is. But I'm thankful for the way it makes my life easier and I figure its always good to be thankful. And a little crazy.
