Sprinkle Me Clean

Sprinkle Me Clean
by,
Jennifer E. Miller

In the 1980s, a futuristic cartoon called The Jetsons featured Rosie, a robotic maid who zipped around energetically spiffing up the family's living quarters. The show was set far enough into the future that robotic maids should be a reality by now. (Also in the 1980s was a film depicting flying hoverboards. HELLLLLO 1980s…why haven't you delivered your futuristic devices?!) Well, we’re getting close anyhow: for Christmas I got a robotic vacuum. Surely, you are familiar with those round discs that roll across rooms. They are supposed to free up all the time traditional vacuuming takes—sorta like a miniature Rosie.

After opening all the gifts on Christmas morning, I charged the vacuum on the dock to get started on freeing up all my time. Gia ate a leftover doughnut for breakfast, and a few sprinkles dropped onto the carpet.

“Picked up those sprinkles,” I said.

She shrugged. “Eh. The new vacuum can get them. Hey! That’s the perfect name: Sprinkles!”

“We don’t need to name the vacuum; it’s not a pet.”

It was like she didn’t even hear me.

“Sprinkles is a great name because sprinkles are going to be the first things it vacuums up. I think that’s good practice to start small, then Sprinkles can work on potato chip crumbs, Goldfish crackers, and work her way up to paper scraps when I make a mess of my craft supplies.”

Well, we wouldn’t want to overwhelm poor Sprinkles, now would we? I thought.

After Sprinkles finished charging, it was time to set her free. I pushed the start button and away she went. Sprinkles senses to turn around when nearing a wall or other objects and can even detect an edge so as not to tumble down the staircase. Tom and I watched the device with skeptical awe.

“You know,” Tom said, “when I was reading reviews on these things, someone mentioned that they couldn’t believe the vacuum could hold that much artificial intelligence, so he followed it around like a little puppy making sure it stayed out of trouble.”

“Gia named it Sprinkles,” I said.

“Okay...”

“It has a name, therefore it’s basically a pet puppy.”

Sprinkles bumped my foot, spun around, and took off in another direction; characteristic of a fuzzy animal looking to start mischief. We watched her head to the stairs, gauge the edge of the top stair, and turn around. That’s when we felt confident allowing her free range around the house.

Several unsupervised minutes passed, when we heard an unusual melody of beeps, similar to a song found in a video game.

“What is that?” I asked.

Tom shrugged.

Upon investigation we found Sprinkles stuck underneath a dresser. Pulling her out, I hit the start button and she resumed cleaning. However, Sprinkles headed right back to the dresser, surely to get stuck once again if we didn’t intervene. Tom quickly reached down, grabbed Sprinkles by the edges and picked her up. The rollers spun for a couple seconds, then another protest of melodious beeps indicated a halt in her mechanics. Tom placed Sprinkles in a new location and started her up.

“Geez, picking that thing up is like picking up a tortoise,” Tom commented. “Like I held the rounded shell and its feet wiggled beneath.”

From a distant corner of the house, “Dad! The vacuum has a name: Sprinkles!”

Over the next few days, we got to know Sprinkles and her quirky yet functional method of wandering around the house. Traditional vacuuming is typically done with strokes right next to one another, working in one section of the house/room at a time. Sprinkles, however, crisscrosses the room making geometric patterns in the carpet knap. But whatever, because now I don’t have to actually vacuum.

Sprinkles vacuums hard surfaces, too, like the linoleum floors. However, she always seems to enter the kitchen at an inconvenient time.

One day I chopped vegetables, then turned around to place them in the frying pan, when Sprinkles darted in front of my feet like a pet looking for attention. As I caught myself, I dropped a few vegetable fragments onto the floor.

“Drat,” I said.

I began reaching down to pick them up when Sprinkles, like a dog waiting for fallen scraps, zoomed over and sucked them all up.

“Good Sprinkles,” I said.

I am talking to the robot now.

On another day I accidentally stepped on Sprinkles while dusting. Rather than yelping as a puppy would, she plays a little melody with her beeps.

“What happened? I heard Sprinkles play her song,” Tom said.

“Yeah. I stepped on her paw.”

Copyright 2019 Jennifer E. Miller