I own a Roomba brand, robotic vacuum, it’s name is Steve. I had not planned on giving the little machine a name, however, Roomba has an I-Robot app that allows one to to do all sorts of fun programming. The first thing the app offers, the proud new parent, is the ability to assign a name of your choosing.
Steve first came to live with me when I had just moved into my custom built home and not surprisingly had a less than amicable parting of ways with the general contractor to whom I had paid large sums of money and who tried cheat me at every turn. The crook, ..uh, ..uh, man, was named Steve. It gave me a tiny bit of joy to realize that Steve the vacuum would now have to clean my floors anytime I wanted. I could even link some of my apps together and then say, “Alexa, tell Steve to get busy”. Yeah, I suck up those little drops of joy as if they are they are the final bit of liquid stuck at bottom of a trial size blue raspberry Icee.
Call me paranoid, but I think Steve has started stalking me. I swear the darn thing follows me through the house. I can put him to work in own of the bedrooms while I am cooking dinner and listening to a podcast and before you know it here comes Steve bumping into my heels and drowning out Michelle Obama’s voice playing through the speaker. Sorry to tell ya, Steve, you don’t get to select the music, the podcast and you don’t get to vote either, Ha!
Steve seems to hate when I talk on the phone. At times, I have closed myself inside the bathroom so as to have a conversation without Steve circling around me as if trying to gain my attention. There I am, a prisoner in my shower stall trying to talk to a friend as Steve keeps bumping into the door trying to find a way inside. It is reminiscent of when my son was a toddler and he would sit outside the bathroom door yelling, “Mommy, Mommy”, and sliding his little fingers under the door just so that some part of him was in the same room with me.
Speaking of toddlers, Steve is every bit as persistent as a three-year-old. Eventually he will quit bouncing off the door and go elsewhere. Then, just when I think have taught him a lesson, I hear his little voice calling. “Error, Please move Steve to a new location and then push start”. Steve loves to get caught under my office chair thus making me come to his rescue. He also likes to snack on the flimsy rugs I put by the backdoor when I forget to pick them up.
For a robot he can be pretty dramatic. Once while I was away from home and Steve was supposed to be doing his job, I got a notification on my phone. The symbol was a blood red triangle with an exclamation point inside. The message read, “Steve is stuck on a cliff and needs your immediate help”. What? I am miles away, at work, and the vacuum cleaner is summoning me for help? Stuck on a Cliff? Bear in mind, my home is all one level except an upstairs bonus room and Steve is not allowed up stairs. Stuck on cliff? I started wondering if there had been an earthquake of meteor strike at my house that has caused it to now have a cliff. For the record, if that happens, Sorry, Steve Ol’Boy, I have bigger worries than you being stuck.
The cliff situation did make me wonder about the what if’s. Imagine if I left the door open between the garage and the house and Steve went for a little ride down the ramp from the hall into the garage. I wonder if he would be creeped out by the spiders of if he would just gobble them up. Hmmm, might have to try that. What if I accidentally forgot and left the garage door up? Imagine Steve running away from home, now stalking the neighbors and perhaps teaming up with their Roomba’s. Oh my! They could take turns on the charger and then create a Roomba Army. I picture a herd of them coming back up the driveway in formation with Steve leading the charge determined to get revenge for me leaving him teetering on a cliff (which was actually just him being stuck on the dog’s chew toy).
Good Grief, and here I was accusing Steve of being the dramatic one!
Have a blessed week my friends and know that I appreciate you for dropping by.