We have just adopted a new robot vacuum cleaner. The frisky little cakepan-shaped stud has taken me into the dazzling era of our technological future. It works soldierly and quietly, like an English butler.
It has a personality all its own—not as charismatic as, say, an insurance adjuster, but it speaks as one who knows floor mopping.
My robot vacuum cleaner is programmed to weave in and out of sofas, tables, chairs, hat racks, stools and ottomans, until every nook and cranny is sanitized. Occasionally, it will bounce several times against something in its way, hinting that I may need an interior decorator.
The vacuum cleaner works off the internet to program itself, giving it a “mind” of its own. It starts the process by inserting itself into its wall unit to recharge without assistance. The first time I saw it do that, I wanted to ask, “Would it like us to play some soft music, possibly Sinatra, while this is taking place”?
It has taught me why websites ask me if I’m human. They don’t want to be selling airline tickets to a smart-alec vacuum cleaner.
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