At the end of last year I wrote about my never-ending struggle with computer problems and how I pretty much hate technology. It felt good to rant and rave. Then something happened over the holidays that made me feel guilty.
Away visiting family in Alaska and with my body still on east coast time, I sat down to a lovely breakfast long before the others stirred. As I bit into my bagel and cream cheese, a little a chime rang out from under one of their credenzas. A round machine a bit larger than a dinner plate and maybe three inches high came out from hiding and began traveling across the floor, back and forth, back and forth. To and fro it went. It even forced the two Australian Shepherds lying at my feet to move while it cut a path underneath them. So this is the IRobot Roomba my son-in-law had bragged about? Hubby had suggested we buy one after we heard how great they were, but my technology loathing self scoffed at the idea. Yet lately, with my bum shoulder acting up each time I vacuum…. Hmmm!
I casually mentioned my morning encounter to Hubby over the phone, and when I returned from Alaska, there is was in its green and white box waiting for me. “Boot it up,” Hubby suggested. I shook my head no, so he proceeded to do the computer work and connect it to my iPhone to get this Roomba going. Typing away, he suddenly stops, looks over to me, and asks, “What do you want to name him?”
“Name him?”
“Yes, we have to name him.”
That was a bit shocking, naming a machine. Weirded out, I suggested, “Roomie?”
“Okay we’re ready to go.”
“Don’t you have to charge him?”
“He’s got a little charge in him.”
“Maybe we should wait,” I cautioned, still a little apprehensive this would go wrong.
He takes my iPhone and taps CLEAN.
Off Roomie goes! Back and forth, turning and spinning, over and over.
“He’s mapping the house,” Hubby said.
We followed him from room to room watching as he used his little attached brush arm to feel his way around obstacles. I frantically began moving things to allow his work. I was amazed. I had never seen anything like this little machine’s determination. Then Roomie applied his brakes, turned around in desperation, and zoomed back to his home base. IPhone alerted me, “Out of battery, dustbin full.”
I ran to see him attach himself to his home base. His top icons were blinking a battery shape and trashcan. Hubby pulled out the dustbin and exclaimed, “Can you believe this? I don’t think you have ever vacuumed before.” Well that didn’t sit too well, but it was hard to argue when I saw what was in Roomie’s tummy, I mean bin.
Now, while enjoying all my spare time, it warms my heart when I hear Roomie’s little song as he announces he is going to vacuum my house. He never needs reminding, never complains he’s tired, and it doesn’t matter how dirty the floor is—he’s up for the job. All Roomie asks for is power to his home base, freeing him if he gets stuck, and to dump his bin if he is full. He even has a personality. Just last Saturday Hubby was trying to make himself a sandwich while Roomie was chasing him out of the way the whole time.
You got to love technology like that.