The Roomba is hands down, my favorite modern invention.
I hate sweeping. It’s the worst. Cleaning the bathtub, or shower, toilet? No problem. Laundry? Fine. But for some reason, I hate getting the broom out, and I always have.
So, for me, the Roomba hits the technology mark like no other.
That said, do you know what’s better than a new Roomba? A new Roomba with googly eyes. Yeah, googly eyes. Now you have a little friend following you around, picking up behind you and your dog.
No more hairballs rolling across the floor like tumbleweeds down Mainstreet in an old west town. No, your floors are nice and clean, thanks to your new robot pal.
At least that was the arrangement that I had with my Roomba for several years until I moved into a new house here in Portland and decided to upgrade my life with the latest and greatest robot vacuum technology.
And seriously, it’s pretty great. The new Roomba maps out my house and cleans specific rooms when asked, all from the convenience of my phone.
Need to walk the dog?
Great, Roomba (my new one is named 8), can knock out the living room and dining room while you’re gone.
Need to head to the store?
Great, maybe 8 can clean the whole damn house.
It’s a marvel of modern technology, and it’s nothing short of amazing.
Except.
I googly-eyed my old Roomba.
See, for years, the Roomba wasn’t just a machine to me; it had personality. This meant that the normally exciting upgrade cycle was instead viewed as a loss. I would have to retire my old friend.
Remember the Disney classic Old Yeller? You know the scene when Travis had to put down Old Yeller right after he saves them from a bunch of wild pigs and then gets rabies from some random wolf?
No? Good for you, and don’t research the reference, trust me.
If you do . . . sidebar—I mean, isn’t it weird that there’s a big dramatic scene about wild pigs, and then it’s some dumb wolf comes along with really no significant foreshadowing other than one paltry scene of a dying cow, and gives rabies to the greatest dog ever?
OK, back to the blog post. It was kind of like that.
I dreaded it, and I knew the time would come as soon as I hit the purchase button online. My moment of excitement was marred by the dark cloud of future mourning, and no amount of on-demand detritus sucking technology would relieve me of that daunting responsibility.
What would I do with Roomba? Where would he go? Did I know someone that needed one? The short answer was no, no one wanted my used, dog hair infused Roomba.
Then one morning after emerging from my basement and tracking dust across my freshly mopped black tile floor, it hit me. The basement. I could retire my old friend to the basement!
OK, so maybe I’m not like Travis in Old Yeller. Maybe I’m more like Andy forgetting about his toys in Toy Story 3.
Maybe not that bad. I mean, he’d still have a purpose even if it wasn’t on the main floor with Brisket and me (I have a dog named Brisket).
When 8 arrived, it was a bittersweet day. The knock on the front door sent a thrill down my spine as I launched from my trusty office chair to hustle the package inside. I unboxed 8, downloaded the software, and after careful consideration, glued two googly eyes in just the right spot. All he had to do was charge up for his first run.
Unfortunately, that meant the time had come.
Time to break the news to my old friend.
I padded barefoot into my room and knelt close to my old friend. I gently unplugged the Roomba’s charger, coiled its cord around my arm, and cradled my old pal for one last move.
I took the basement steps slowly, partly for safety … it was hard to see, but mostly out of reverence for my old companion.
I chose to plug the charger into the outlet attached to the workbench. With everything going on down there, I felt it held the highest status among all the other options*.
Roomba just smiled, with that wide, dopey grin, and stared up at me with those oversized eyes.
“I’ll see you ‘round,” I said.
And I would.
I’d see him every once in a while, now, but it would never be like the old days when, after Brisket, he was the second face I’d see every morning and the penultimate** face I’d see every night.
I sighed before hitting the CLEAN button and sent him on his first mission in his new surroundings and trudged up the stairs to rejoin my new life in progress.
Things are good now, the walls are painted fresh, and the floors are as clean as they ever were. Sometimes I can hear my old Roomba bumping around down there. Knocking over brooms I refuse to hang up, as well as a makeshift metal covering that I keep leaning against the chimney because I am unsure of its purpose.
Anyway.
I hope he’s happy down there.
I guess the moral of the story is, be careful when you’re anthropomorphizing your inanimate objects, or you’ll end up blogging about it to the world someday.
*Please don’t ask for my criteria.***
**I can’t help but use this word whenever humanly possible. I’m sorry. Also, for clarification, this isn’t double-entendre or anything. I usually see Brisket’s face last.
***If you really want to know, the other options were around the washer/dryer, and that seemed a little crowded, and everywhere else seemed kind of dark and lonely.