Many men and women find the act of vacuuming therapeutic. Like meditation, the repetitive nature of the forward and backward motion of the vacuum allows the operator to free their minds and lose focus on the outside world. Additionally, many people find order and solace with the lined pattern left by the machine. Like a farmer tending their crops, the carpet is left with a track of lines, evenly spaced. This demonstration of order brings an immediate sense of satisfaction to a job well done.

I however, do not vacuum my house, as I have gone with a more modern approach by purchasing an unmanned robotic dirt collecting companion, also know as a Roomba. I cherish my mechanical handyman, and not just because it affords me time to partake in more important tasks, such as binge watching my latest Netflix discovery. I cherish my Roomba because I see it as the punk of the vacuum world. I’ve found that Roomba, to put it politely, does not give a fuck about order. Roomba acts more as an agent of chaos, the Joker to the Dysons Batman, disregarding the conformity of patterns or tracks.

Sure, Roomba could move across a room from front-to-back, making sure to cover every square inch of the space, but it does not. Not only would this be the most efficient way to clean the room, but it would also ensure that all areas were cleaned appropriately. Roomba is not about efficiency. Roomba is not about appropriateness. Roomba roams where it wants to, and collects what it wants. Yes, dirt will be consumed, but so will power-cords, earrings, socks, and anything it can cram in it’s mouth cavity.

In it’s greatest act against neatness, Roomba has even gone so far as to make matters worse. In the event that, God forbid, your dog is so inclined to leave a landmine anywhere in your residents, Roomba will seek it like a shark to blood, and spread that defecation across the rest of your domicile. It is in these times, when you are scrubbing the shit smear from your carpet, that you realize just how unpredictable and even unstable Roomba can be.


It’s like anarchy... in my carpet.

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