Bad Robot

On a recent trip to Costco, in need of a new vacuum cleaner (note: when the vacuum spits out more than it sucks in, it’s time for a new one), a fancy Dyson model caught my eye.

I know virtually nothing about Dyson, but I have it in my head that they create superior products, and if given a choice, using anything else is nothing short of primitive. I vaguely recall a commercial with a British gent (or Australian or possibly South African) on TV demonstrating something amazing a Dyson vacuum could do. Good advertising. Plus, they make the Airblade dryer that takes hand drying to a whole new level. (Note to self: next time at Costco, see if they sell the Airblade – how cool would it be to have that in my bathroom?!) 

Anyhow, so that’s really all I need to be sold on something. And I’ll give almost anything from Costco a shot because they have a crazy lenient return policy. Europe may have us beat on universal healthcare, work-life balance, history, culture, and lack of obesity, but you can’t beat America for its commitment to keeping us uncommitted to the products we purchase!

You’d think that after all that, we’d have come home with the Dyson. But no, the man of the house (AKA: the man who after four years still has to be arm-twisted to vacuum, a chore that three years ago he picked as “his chore”) insisted on the Roomba. 

If you’re unfamiliar with Roomba, it’s a robotic vacuum cleaning disk that’s supposed to scoot about the home, removing all traces of debris in its path. This thing aint cheap, but according to its on-site sales rep (the aforementioned boyfriend of mine), its a small price to pay for the time it will save us. Time that we could spend doing interesting and fun things that will enrich our lives. My question of “Will it also mop the floor? Because who’s going to mop the floor?” was disregarded as the Roomba was tossed into our giant cart. 

Before we even used it, I predicted it would be going back. He brushed off my pessimism and proudly set the thing up, charged it, and sent it on its inaugural voyage. As we held hands and skipped off into the sunset towards life enriching activities, returning home filled with joy and satisfaction amplified only by the cleanliness of our floors, I thanked him profusely for his wisdom in bringing Roomba into our lives. 


What we did was follow it around watching its every move for the greater part of an hour. Our futuristic robot vacuum twirled around with me commenting all the while about its nonsensical path (“Why doesn’t it go in a parallel lines pattern, to cover every part of each room?”) and pointing out to it, “Ya missed a spot!” 

Roomba’s papa doesn’t agree that it isn’t thorough, and wants to keep it. My new prediction is that we’ll have his and hers vacuums. In which case, there may be some cock fight action happening in the house soon – Roomba v. Dyson. My money’s on Dyson. 


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