January 12 2024
The new iRobot arrived from Amazon, but I delayed opening the box. Things were about to get difficult.
That old iRobot developed some bad habits. Like older people, it got cranky; sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not. The situation was far more frustrating than the word suggests when the machine spun around in a circle and went home like a dog refusing a walk. So, it was time to get a new one.
There I was, examining the sizable box holding my new iRobot. When I receive a new product, I usually empty the box to see all the items sent and then look for the one-page instructions.
Assuming that the new one needed powering up, I plugged it in. I then consulted the instructions, but the print was too small to decipher. With a magnifying glass, I discovered that of the dozens of pages, only two were in English. The other pages had identical text in dozens of languages, each two pages long.
Besides the instruction manual, I found two cards with QR codes. I have an iPhone, so I had no trouble taking a picture of the codes and reading the instructions. But what if I had no iPhone?
No other instructions were provided beyond the miniature English text and QR codes. From the two pages of text, I learned to charge the machine until the swirling white circle around the start button stopped. The other and more critical instruction was to “pair” my iPhone with the iRobot. Once I paired my phone with the cleaning genius, instructions arrived.
The first command received was to give my machine a name. We discussed the name. We didn’t intend to imply cleaning is women’s work, but finding a gender-neutral name souncing good to both of us proved difficult. The current recognition of multiple sexes makes using “(he/she)” after names too lengthy. Our old iRobot, Matilda, has a namesake: our new iRobot.
Soon enough, my iPhone indicated Matilda was ready to clean. I punched the starter button, and Matilda came off her base. Then she took off towards the bedroom, changed her mind, and returned to crank around her base. After that, she seemed to meander aimlessly in different rooms until it ran out of juice, returned, and mounted her base for a refill.
I was disappointed by the short amount of time Matilda spent cleaning. At this rate, she will need three or four charges to clean the main floor. The old and faithful Matilda did the entire floor with only two charges.
By now, not knowing what to do next and in a frustrated mood, it was time to call customer service. Connecting with a very courteous gentleman with a foreign accent did not take long. A nagging question about his location tugged at my mind, though I felt no desire for interaction in my current mood. He told me to charge Matilda three hours before starting. I had charged it for less than an hour because my iPhone informed me Matilda was ready to dance. The swirling was slow, and my iPhone said Matilda was ready.
Another key information I learned from the representative was to press the “map” button first so Matilda could survey our house, measure the rooms, and map them in her memory. The first time around, she will not clean, he said. I asked where the map button was. I saw the word map next to the Google symbol for maps, but when I touched the symbol, Matilda jumped off the base and started cleaning. No, the customer service gentleman said. Just touch the words “map,” not the symbol. And so, we made friends with Matilda, and once charged for the third time, she cranked around the entire main floor, mapping our house without cleaning.
She mapped our house into her memory and even called the rooms by their names. For example, there was a living room, bedrooms numbers one and two, and so forth. She correctly identified our Christmas tree, calling it ” the Holiday Tree,” the accepted word for it by today’s standards. How the hell could she recognize it? The star-shaped footing for the tree may have given her the information around which she had to circumnavigate. Very smart. And if I did not find the floor plan realistic, I could correct it on my iPhone.
Now that Matilda had our floor plan in her plastic body, I could enter a ‘new project,’ check the rooms to be cleaned, and then punch the start button.
Opening the box, figuring out the instructions, calling for customer help, and waiting for Matilda to charge and recharge took most of the weekend. Now, with the floor plan in Matilda’s mind, I can still change. I understand how to use the new iRoboy and could retire old Matilda to the basement should she return to life.
Phew! I relaxed and poured myself a glass of wine, celebrating success. Then the realization hit me: did we not get this model because it is not only self-cleaning but also “mops.” (Self-cleaning means we do not have to empty the dustbin. She does it herself by having a massive blow into the base when she finishes the assigned project and returns to the base). Yes, she does mop with water! Aha, that is why there was another gadget for mopping in the box, into which we put some water. Boy, I’ll need another weekend to figure out how to mop with Matilda! I’ll sit on it for a week before initiating another adventure with Matilda.
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