Illustration by Nijah Smith
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I never thought it would be possible to love an inanimate object as dearly as I do, but the sad truth is my new Roomba vacuum has completely sucked me in. As soon as I hear the electronic beeps heralding the start of its latest rounds, I experience a surge of joy and run to bow before it as I clear its path.
I had a traditional vacuum for decades, but that oh-so-last-century invention involves lifting it up the stairs, finding a convenient place to plug it in and then engaging in an aerobic workout. As my back began to complain in recent years, the collection of crumbs on the kitchen floor multiplied exponentially. Those neglected morsels representing a life well-lived were becoming a source of self-reproach, amplified by the humiliation of hearing the shameful crunching emanating from underfoot. I needed a new solution.
The idea of purchasing a Roomba took hold of me like an obsession. Once I had decided there was an expensive vacuum in my future, there was no going back. I consulted friends, read reviews and checked various websites daily for sale prices. Finally, I found an older model on clearance and, combined with my Canadian Tire money, bought it for a ridiculously reduced but still outrageous price. Welcome to your forever home, Roomba!
The arrival of this gadget ushered a brave new world into our household. Until this point, my family and I had studiously avoided “the internet of things.” You won’t find Alexa, web-enabled dimmable lighting or a video doorbell at our house. I didn’t want anything to be hackable nor did I want to be spied on by my household appliances. And yet, this item has been invited in with open arms. I guess love forgives – or at least overlooks – all things.
Integration has been an ongoing challenge, mostly for the Roomba. For, as I have discovered, it still needs human intervention. To date, it has almost-but-not-quite hurled itself off the top step leading into the basement and somehow couldn’t find its way back from the precipice. On other occasions, it has been marooned on the high-pile carpet or wedged under the banister. Electric cords are not its friend either. Perhaps the Roomba lacks some sense of self-preservation or else its kamikaze dedication to dust collection outstrips its abilities to anticipate imminent danger. In any event, it does need to be “rescued” regularly.
Our cat has also had to make accommodations. I have watched her observing this whirling object, torn between fight or flight. Retreat has become her go-to strategy, as she climbs to a higher level where she can watch the Roomba’s meanderings from a safe vantage point.
We have discovered that our Roomba appears to have a stubborn streak – it has a decided preference for cleaning the kitchen, when we would rather it venture into the front hall occasionally. Perhaps it knows something we don’t? Nonetheless, we bend it to our will, corralling it into the hall with closed doors and strategically placed chairs. Realizing it has been outmanoeuvred, it obediently does its duty.
After it has completed its rounds, my husband and I, like anxious parents toilet training their little one, huddle over the garbage bag to see what treasure the Roomba has brought home to us in its dirt reservoir – popcorn kernels, dropped pills, cat treats, fallen dinner detritus and amorphous fuzz. We hypothesize and debate about why the dust looks more grey than white today – perhaps our black cat is shedding more than usual? Then I check the app to see how many “dirt events” the Roomba has encountered. These reports serve as a feedback loop on our daily lives. Finally, we remove the filter and lovingly wash it to keep our new baby in optimal health.
So why has this newcomer proven so alluring? Certainly, I find this dust dervish far more satisfying than the dishwasher or clothes dryer. It could be the novelty factor, but more likely is that we are charmed by its unpredictable personality. Then again, it may be more prosaic – my back is happier, and my floors are mostly crumb-free.
In the end, I remain enamoured with this new appliance in my life. Conventional wisdom states that you can’t buy happiness. I disagree. By purchasing our new Roomba, money has indeed made my world go around.
Marina Boehm lives in North York, Ont.
