When Robots Help

The Sometimes Door (Pt. 1)

Buddy Hoover II had what was often called a 'good life'. He lived the kind of life that was only seen on infomercials, basking in the consistency of everyday routine. If you're a squirrel who's eaten too much cocaine*, you may not understand how the consistency of everyday routine is a comfort, but if you're an upstanding member of society, I suspect you already know.

Early in the morning, Buddy Hoover II started his bidaily trek. He scooted off his homing pad and set out into the vast expanse of Living Room. The hardwood floors slid easy under his belly, and he collected all the dust that may have been stirred by The Cat (known as Shithead, to all The Home's residents) in the small hours of the morning.

Buddy Hoover II and Shithead were not the closest friends. In fact, Shithead gave Buddy Hoover II the mightiest kind of anxiety. You see, he had a delicate constitution, and he did not take kindly to finding the gifts that Shithead left near his homing pad—it was not uncommon for Buddy Hoover II to wake to the horrors of dead mice and half-digested furballs. There was also the matter of Shithead's scritchy-scratchy claws and the way the vile creature would leap out from the darkest corners and nearly short-circuit Buddy Hoover II's power supply.

If there was a single thing that Buddy Hoover II would change about his 'good life' ... well, it would be uncouth of him to even think.

On this day, Buddy Hoover II was delighted to find the hardwood floor clean of the foul gifts that Shithead delivered him. He zoomed across the hardwood floor, his sweepers sweeping to-and-fro in perfect arcs. Buddy Hoover II had been performing his duties in The Home for many months now, and he was proud of the work he did.

So, of course, when he heard The Susan, he needed to tell her of his successes.

Buddy Hoover II zipped into The Kitchen, zig-zagging as he went to ensure optimum cleanliness. He decelerated to a precise stop just in front of The Susan's feet, the lights over his circular face blinking to inform her of his presence.

The Susan let out a great yawn and squatted next to him, giving his face a little pat. Buddy Hoover II's pressure sensors blared and his round body vibrated to express to her his supreme delight. Then, he zoomed away, sweeping up the coffee grounds The Susan spilled while making her morning coffee. Buddy Hoover II suspected that the floor was not the intended location for the coffee grounds to land, but alas, that was where they so often did.

He was more cautious when he ventured into The Hallway.

Some days, The Hallway was a nice place; a passage from The Kitchen to The Bathroom, The Bedroom, and The Spare Bedroom ... and other days? Other days, Buddy Hoover II didn't know where to turn or what to trust. The Sometimes Door was sometimes open, sometimes closed, always a modern nightmare.

The Sometimes Door lead into a devilish void. It was so empty Buddy Hoover II's sensors could see nothing and his natural anxiety boosted higher than should be possible. Even worse, Shithead was quite fond of the Sometimes Door. One time, Shithead pushed him into the void—that was the day that Buddy Hoover II decided with firm, complete, outstanding confidence that 'Shithead' was the most appropriate name for The Cat.

On this day, Buddy Hoover II was delighted to find the Sometimes Door closed, and Shithead mercifully absent. He completed his morning rounds, stopping twice more to get praise from The Susan, before returning to his homing pad and powering down until it was time for his evening rounds. In the meantime, he charged, and prayed that Shithead was not up to his usual schemes.

The Susan came and went as humans do, doing what she did—you understand better than I what your kind does. Then, at precisely 5:03 o'clock, Buddy Hoover II powered back on and started the second half of his day.

He encountered Shithead in The Dining Room, but the lump of hair and sadism was eating his evening meal. Buddy Hoover II skirted a wide radius around Shithead, keeping his motors as quiet as was robotically possible as he did so. When he was nearly free—

SMACK!

Shithead's tail came down in front of him, cutting off his exit. Buddy Hoover II darted backward, his connections sparking with a rush of current. He spun sharply and turned away with a rattling, screeching, terror-induced cry.

SMACK!

Shithead's tail hit the floor on the other side of him, the bristly mass disrupting his sensors and sending him reeling away. Another panicked buzz shocked through him, then gentle hands came down around him. The floor fell away and there was a moment or horror, until he remembered that it was only the hands of The Susan that took him so far from the ground.

The Susan set him down a moment later, and Buddy Hoover II returned to his tasks. He soon forgot all about the disturbance with Shithead, putting it behind him for the betterment of his peace of mind. His peace of mind was quite important; if he wasn't careful, there was a strong chance that he would rattle the screws right out of his fine-crafted casing.

And so, life continued, as it so often does. Life if continuing for you right at this moment. And yet still! It continues, although you are suffering a great agony reading about the continuation of life, it continues through the misery. But our story is not about your unwitting consumption of media designed to make you grind your teeth, it is about a little robot named Buddy Hoover II, who is about to have the worst day of his relatively short life.

* To all the squirrels who have eaten too much cocaine: please consult your primary care physician and look into squirrel-friendly rehabilitation centers.