Tag Archives: humor

Jackie Wells-Fauth

I probably shouldn’t admit this, because someone is sure to question my sanity (like that hasn’t been done before) but I carry on a running fight with a household appliance. I have a confrontational relationship with my Roomba, which is what I call my automatic floor sweeper, even though that’s not the brand name of this one!

I’m well aware that the fact that I take the trouble to fight with my floor sweeper indicates that I have too much time on my hands, but everybody has to take a stand on something—I simply choose to do it with the Roomba!

If you have never used an automatic floor sweeper—good for you; cherish your broom. But, for those of us who have been so foolish as to install one, let me explain how it works. The stand for the Roomba sits in one corner of the living room. The round body of the sweeper sits on the base of the stand and charges when not in use. To operate it, you simply press the home button on the top and the sweeper moves out onto the floor, turning round and round, its little brushes picking up the dirt as it goes. Simple, right? Not for me!

The most unnerving part about the Roomba is that it talks to you. I will say that my broom has never done that! I have long argued against machines that mimic the human voice. They aren’t fooling anyone. They have limited language. My Roomba has a few choice phrases and is talented at getting herself into situations so she can use them.

Press the on button and she immediately backs out over your feet, announcing, “Starting to clean.” The first thing she does in my house is go under the media table and tangle herself in the cords. I believe she is having an unnatural relationship with it! As the sound of the television goes off, Roomba can be heard announcing, “Impediment detected.” She doesn’t add, “Ha ha! I unplugged your television system and now it will take you three hours and a half a dozen tearful calls to the provider to set it up again.” She might as well, though. Because if I am not smart enough to block that table with everything but the kitchen sink, that is just what will happen.

Rugs are her favorite meal. I admit, I don’t replace my rugs as often as I should. That is not an excuse for her to grab a loose thread, wind it securely around her working parts while unraveling the rug and then announce blithely, “Tangle detected.” No kidding, half the rug is now one long string around her engine and I am in for an hour of trying to pull it back out, calling her a lot of names (besides Roomba) while I do. If this babe had been around when Rapunzel was letting down her hair, it would have snatched her bald!

The worse part, however, is when I find myself talking to her like an unsatisfactory employee. “Just a minute, Cookie, you’ve been past this spot three times and there is still some grass on the floor. What’s the deal?” I pick it up, move it over and set it down as it is announcing, “Impediment detected. Please re-position and press continue.” “Oh, I’ll reposition you, alright!” (No I don’t know what I meant by that.)

“Did you go through this section at all?” I will demand, pointing to the cookie crumbs and various cooking items I never pick up as I’m working in the kitchen. She swivels her little body around at that point and announces, “Returning to base. Time to charge.”

That’s when I find myself chasing a small, round appliance through the house yelling, “You aren’t done! Get back here right now.” By the time I get that out, she is back at the base and has activated the vacuum to clean out her dust bin. She’s a quick little thing when she thinks she is done.

And usually, it ends with her announcing, “Malfunction, please check bin.” Oh great, she picked up something along the way (lord knows it wasn’t dust) that has blocked the vacuum cleaner. That means I will have to manually deconstruct the vacuum system, scattering dirt everywhere to find the pen, grocery receipt, ect., that is blocking the way. “There!” I announce, “I have got everything cleaned out. And you are going to clean up this whole mess, young lady!”

So, if you hear yelling coming from my house, yes, I am involved in an argument, but it probably isn’t with any human source. It just means the Roomba has struck again!

Jackie Wells-Fauth

It had to happen. My peaceful, lazy existence over the past few months had to end sometime and this weekend was apparently the start of a new era at our house.

Between some health issues and a busy work time, Roy has left household projects pretty much up to me for the last few months. And I will admit that those “projects” have consisted only of the things I had to do. I like to call my attitude laid-back, but in reality, you’d probably label me lazy. Knowing that about myself, perhaps I should have searched for a lazy partner, but I like my choice—except when he decides to do a project. And even worse, when he decides I need to help.

That is how this weekend went. I have stacked, piled and otherwise mis-located the materials from three rooms of the basement. I had to do that in order for some work to be done in the laundry room and the two bedrooms. However, now the disorder is clogging up the family room and even worse, the weight room. Roy’s sensibilities are offended by this disorder, but up until now, he really wasn’t up to doing anything about it.

I believe the expression “Goliath awakens” had new meaning in our house. Roy had put up with the mess in the basement as long as he was willing to. He appeared in the bedroom doorway where I was contemplating the quiet and considering how many hours I could spend doing nothing.

“I want to do some work on the basement and I need your help,” he announced.

“Oh sure. I have a million things to do, and you think I should just drop everything and help you,” I snarled.

He looked at my prone position on the bed and my empty hands and replied, “I think I can live with myself.”

So down to the basement I stomped. And he was clearly determined to start a fight. His first question was, “What do we have down here that we can throw away?”

In my house, those are fighting words. Obviously, everything I have down there…for instance the three boxes of papers that came from my father, aunt and grandmother (all deceased for some years) is very important. Perhaps, among the old receipts, empty bank books and long-paid bills, there could be the deed to a forgotten gold mine. I can’t throw those things away!

He gritted his teeth and put them on the storage shelves. Then he picked up two garbage bags. “Are these both just garbage?”

One bag contained the remnants of the quilt my grandmother made me as a girl. Someday, I’m going to reconstruct it. I snatched that bag away and made a grab for the other one.

“You said this dehydrator hadn’t been used in years and might not even work anymore,” he said, holding onto it. “Or did this belong to your great uncle Harry and can’t be touched.” Sometimes he can be so ridiculous. I don’t even have a great uncle Harry!

It was a long afternoon. Instead of relaxing and enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, I was in a death battle with a man determined to throw away things like the crumpled remains of a Halloween decoration I haven’t put out for Halloween in 20 years. When it was over, the storage shelves could once again hold everything we were saving and he could use his weight room without having to squeeze past the Christmas decorations.

He was in a much better mood, but I wasn’t. He interrupted my favorite activity—doing nothing—for my least favorite activity—throwing away junk I have accumulated over the years. Goliath had truly awakened, but that in turn had awakened Hera—the most vengeful wife in mythology!

“I’m going to walk the dog,” he said, “you want to join us?”

“No!” I snapped. “I’m very busy right now. I have a column to write.”

He didn’t ask what it would be about!