My Robot

They say the age of home helper robots is not far off. I would like to put in for one right now. In the meantime it's occurred to me that I already have a robot that is far more sophisticated than any engineer ever dreamed of. It is that mechanical-software thing, aka body-brain device that I was given at birth. When she doesn’t complain, or balk, my robot behaves quite well. The trouble is she wants to be so identified with me that she makes me feel like I am her. And she does complain, especially about the piling up of newspapers, magazines, books, advertisements, bills, correspondence, etc. My mechanical robot will not complain. It won't have any argument such as, "I don't feel like doing this or that." She will do the job I ask her to do when I tell her to and she'll do it well, consulting me only to inform me of some new and better organizational option and then say, "Would my mistress like to make the change, or not?"

But I can't sit around waiting for the experts to get those robots on the market, so I decided to make the best of this flesh, blood and bone one I already have. I'll call her Robata. When and if the future purely  mechanical robot comes along Robata can retire into the good life. So, I had a talk with Robata this morning. I said, “Robata, you and I could have done far more than we have in the years behind us, but if we have not become a virtuoso pianist or a world famous artist or a shipbuilder or multimillionaire, it’s not entirely your fault. Our only limitations are the ones imposed by faulty engineers on your part and the lack of vision and ambition to use you up to your potential on my part. Since we can’t do anything about the these past deficiencies, maybe we can do better from now on.”

“Do you really think it’s worth the effort at this late date?” Robata said wistfully. 

“My good old friend, don’t despair. I know you’re nearing a statistical numbers hurdle, but look, I read in one of those magazines that longevity is increasing and soon 150 will not be an unusual life expectancy."  She looked at me in the mirror and sighed as if to say,  "When a new robot comes along will you be keeping me or will I go the way of all flesh?" 

"Oh, I'd hope to have you stick around for several years, my dear! I can't get along without you now, but the time will come, no doubt, when you and I will need to go our separate ways. You're going to a lovely place in the National Cemetery near Riverside to rest beside my late husband's robot.  Where I'll be or in what state I'll be, even I don't know, but I'm expecting my change to be a kind of promotion. Still, like I said before, we may have a good many years left if we can keep on doing as well as we are now." 

Robata smiled back at me in the mirror again and I said, "Let's sing a duet! Remember that old song that goes, 'You may not be an angel, 'cause angels are so few, but until the day when one comes along, I'll string along with you?'" Then we sang and even danced together.

Robota always reacts well to song and dance, so afterwards I glanced at her and saw she was resting on the sofa and smiling in a knowing way. And you know what?  She kept on smiling all the rest of the day!