New Housebot

Typically this post, in which I introduce our new Roomba, would be titled, "The Newest Member of the Family."  But let's face it.  J Edgar is not a member of the family.  He is a slave.  We speak of him in the third person while he is in the room.  When we do speak directly to him, it is always a command ("Get to it, J Edgar!") or a criticism ("You missed a spot, J Edgar.").  Though he has only been working in our household for a couple of days, his once-dapper attire is already scuffed, scraped, and dusty.  In the evening he huddles by our feet as we dine, his amber LED pulsing with resentment as he seeks his own meager direct-current sustenance.

Our floors, however, have not been so clean in months.

When I mentioned the new slavebot to my coworker, Ellen, her comment was, "You must not have a lot of stuff on your floors."  We do, in fact, but I would have to pick that up even if I were to use a regular vacuum cleaner.  Indeed, it is much easier for me to prepare a room to be vacuumed if I know that I don't have to do the vacuuming afterward.  Picking stuff up and pushing furniture around is something I can do while the Spawn sleeps, or plays, or even while I am holding her.  Vacuuming, I cannot. 

I also am very happy about J Edgar's relatively quiet performance.  Yes, you can hear him from anywhere in the house.  You may not want to talk on the phone or listen to music in the same room where he's working.  But a regular vacuum cleaner - especially on hardwood floors such as ours - makes me want to flee.  The loudness of the noise literally induces disorientation.  This afternoon, however, I actually spent about a half hour playing with the Spawn and surfing the web on the couch while J Edgar trundled away underneath us.

Pity J Edgar.  He is a workaday appliance on wheels, a brushing, sucking hockey puck with a herky-jerky navigation system.  Never shall it be said that he glides across the floor, or that he floats across the room.  Nay, so pedestrian a rolling automaton can only be said to trundle, or scurry, or at best, scoot.  Can you imagine a prima ballerina tiptoeing and leaping across the stage while calling out square-dancing steps?  Nothing is as graceless as a cacophony, and though J Edgar is quiet for a vacuum cleaner, he is still a loud little robot, and never will he steal, slip, or sail.