Finally! A Robot Slave of My Own!
I recently became the proud owner of an iRobot Roomba. For those of you who aren't familiar with what this is, it's a little robot hockey puck looking thing that wanders around my house and vacuums it for me. I typically let it go do it's thing every other day, setting it to do it's daily chore just as I'm leaving for work in the morning.
But that's not why I'm writing this post. I'm writing it because I'm having a bit of a parental experience with it.
The first night I had this robot, I turned it on and let it vacuum while I sat one the couch watching it for a little while. Eventually, I turned the TV on and started watching that, while sort of keeping my attention to the robot randomly. After a few minutes, I became engrossed in whatever drivel was on TV and stopped paying attention to the robot. The last time I had noticed it, it had gone off into another room of my apartment, and that had been several minutes ago.
It slowly dawned on me that, though I could still sort of hear the robot, I didn't actually know what it was doing. Maybe it was in trouble, or stuck on some loose laundry. Maybe it was ripping up something that it shouldn't have. I didn't know.
I leapt off the couch and into the other room where the robot was innocently circling an area of concentrated filth.
And it was then that I realized: I had become a cyber-parent.
God forbid it ever starts dating.
Update: And it appears that my parental instincts weren't totally without merit.
I came home from work last night to find my little robot stuck under the refrigerator with the belt for my robe wrapped around one of it's wheels.
Kids!