It Takes Two to Roomba

Two completely unrelated events hurtling through space and time recently collided. When the dust settled, we found ourselves as proud owners of a robotic cleaning staff. The two events were: Marta going off to work for UT, and Jo getting the family way.

We decided to try and clean up our mess ourselves (note to Dubya - it isn't as hard as it sounds). That mostly meant sweeping and mopping. Our hardwood floors are of a very light color. Our cats are not. Neither is the stuff that I leave behind when I take off my soccer shoes. Nor is my hair - and judging by how much ends up on the floor, there shouldn't be any on my head (the judge is getting uncomfortably close to the truth).

The first week was tough. Jo decided that the floors required frequent sweeping and mopping, and the cats and I were locked out of rooms and hallways so that we wouldn't leave paw prints on the floor before the wet stuff dried.

Then Rich told me he loved his Roomba. The next day, Jo drove to the nearest Sears and bought home a beautiful little Roomba that we could call our very own. We tried her out in the living room. The cats bolted. Jo soon went about her normal business. I couldn't. I just sat there, riveted, staring at this whirring little beaut as she twisted and turned and bumped her way across the floor, leaving behind a trail of clean. And when she was done, she went back to her charging bay and hooked back up, chirping cheerfully. By the next day, even the cats were cool. But I continued to spend an unhealthy amount of time just watching her work, imagining the algorithms that computed her new direction as often as 26 times each second. Jo tried telling me that this was a waste of time.

Flashback: a couple of years ago, we went out and got one of those high end bagless vacuum jobies. Jo and I did a bit of research on the Internet, and then went down to the local vacuum cleaner store (yes, we have one: ABC Vacuum on Burnet) and test-drove the one we wanted. They were out of stock except for the floor model. We actually plonked down our money and they called us when they had one. In other words, this wasn't a half-assed impulse buy. We wanted this hoover.

Back to the current time: last night Raje and Heidi were over for dinner. Today, I wanted to clean up some crumbs. Rather than disturb the Roomba, I decided to drag out the good old hoover and give it a push or two. It didn't take Jo long to notice that I was flailing. I couldn't find the darn power switch. I even tried to poke the lighted hoover logo. No good. I could see a clearly marked "off" switch, but no "on". Apparently, I have to hit the "suction power" switch a certain number of times to turn this thing on. I bet the joker who designed this went on to work for Microsoft.

I have never used a vacuum that is so complex. The part that you push around on the floor is almost as big as a Yugo and comes with its own propulsion system. There is a button to make the power cord retract. Was I supposed to know all this?

I am finally done. As I cart the ungainly beast away, Jo dryly mentions that I may want to blog the fact that I don't know how to use the vacuum and we have had it for a couple of years. I come back snappily with "And you have never used any of the Linux servers upstairs, have you?", but even as I say it, it feels hollow.

And that's why I love my Roomba - I will never have to feel guilty about not vacuuming.

p.s. we are expecting our Scooba in the mail tomorrow - she is Roomba's floor-washing friend. Marvin Minsky, god bless your atheist soul.