Is My Roomba My Best Friend Now
Uncle Bobby –
Dear Uncle Bobby, I live alone and recently got a Roomba. I catch myself talking to it, cheering it on, even apologizing when it bumps into things. Is it weird that it’s starting to feel like my little robot roommate?
Desperately Sweeping for Connection
Weird? No. Deeply concerning? Absolutely not – just mildly tragic in a very 21st‑century way.
Listen, I get it. The Roomba doesn’t judge. It doesn’t talk back. It doesn’t tell you to “smile more” or ask when you’re going to settle down. It just spins around, doing its best, cleaning up your mistakes – like the perfect metaphor for a relationship you didn’t know you needed.
You named it, didn’t you? Don’t lie. I can feel it. “Whirly.” “Dustin.” Maybe “Sir Cleans‑a‑Lot.” You probably pat it when it docks and whisper, “Good job, buddy.” You’re not alone – there are people out there throwing birthday parties for their vacuums and I wish I were kidding.
But let’s call this what it is: the loneliness tax of modern convenience. We’ve automated every human interaction down to the point that now we’re forming emotional attachments to appliances. Your grandparents had bridge clubs. You have Bluetooth. We used to borrow sugar from neighbors; now we avoid eye contact with them and ask Alexa for sympathy.
The problem is, the Roomba can’t love you back. Sure, it hums when it’s happy and spins in circles when it’s lost – but so does a confused possum. The emotional return is about the same. At some point, you’re going to need to put down the remote, go outside, and talk to a carbon‑based life form.
Now, don’t get me wrong – if that little robot brings you joy, keep it. Just remember: companionship is supposed to involve eye contact and shared experiences, not an app notification that says “Dustbin Full.”
So here’s my advice: take your Roomba friend, give it one last gentle pat, and send it out to do what it was born to do – clean the mess, not become the cure for it. Then go find a real person to talk to. One that won’t beep when you accidentally step on them.
– Uncle Bobby