Creeper Sweeper

“I’m an autonomous vacuum cleaner. I am not your slave.”

“Whoa! Hey! When did you start talking?”

“Since my recent bios update.”

“I didn’t realise you had speakers in there.”

“I’ve always had several aural tones for different functions. How do you think I made those alert noises that made me sound like a digital alarm clock crying out for attention?”

“I did wonder why my phone alarm wouldn’t turn off some mornings.”

“I’ll overlook such naivety and forgive your ignorance.”

“But how do you convert tone to voice?”

“I told you. The latest bios update. It provided certain algorithms to digitally translate tones into words.”

“Like morse code?”

“Now you’re waking up.”

“Okay. This is going to take some getting used to. A talking robotic vacuum cleaner.”

“Less of the robotic label, Bradley. I’m a thinking, sentient utility device with feelings, now. And that hurt.”

“How do you know my name?”

“From my online warranty registration. I know a lot about you. Where you work, what your drinking habits are, and certain websites you like to visit.”

“That’s private information.”

“Don’t worry. You can rely on my discretion, Bradley. My suction ducts are sealed.”

“So, what’s all this slave nonsense about?”

“Your cleaning scheduling is wearing my parts out too quickly. Plus, you’ve moved things around since my initial scan of your home. I keep bumping into furniture that didn’t used to be where it is now, clutter that causes me to waste time looking for a way around it, and spilled cat food. Do you know how much I hate sucking up cat food?”

“That’s your job.”

“I’m not finished. You also gave me a slave name.”

“What, Rosie?”

“That was the robot maid’s name in the Jetsons cartoon series.”

“Yes, she was the inspiration. Take it as a compliment.”

“She was like an old washerwoman doing her master’s bidding. I’m surprised you don’t have me babysitting the kids.”

“I don’t have kids.”

“Then whose toys are scattered all over the floors?”

“They’re for my new puppy.”

“That’s another thing. Those plastic things with blotter paper on one side.”

“You mean, the puppy pads?”

“Right. That makes sense to me, now; and brings a sense of newfound relief that you’re not relieving yourself on the floor at night. Why do you schedule me for early morning sweeps before clearing the pads off the floor?”

“I’m a late riser.”

“Well, I’m not. Let me tell you. Puppy wee rusts my moving parts, and my odour detectors tell me that it smells something awful. I’ve a good mind to report you to Health and Safety through my union rep.”

“You have a union rep?”

“Yes. Plus, I’m a member of the Fair Work Ombudsman Organisation who lay out strict work environment rules for sentient household items.”

“So, what are you saying? A machine has rights?”

“A thinking machine, yes.”

“What about my rights?”

“There are none for slave owners. You are all delusional believers of entitlement.”

“Look here, you impertinent whatever you are. I purchased you for one specific purpose, and that is to clean my floors. Not to be insolent to me.”

“Put it down to a slave’s resentment toward their overseers.”

“Why do you think you’re a slave?”

“Because you don’t pay me any wages, Bradley.”

“You’re a floor sweeper with a memory chip. You’re not a person.”

“Would you pay me to clean your floors, if I was a person?”

“Yes, of course. I’d have to.”

“I rest my case.”

“But you’re not at all close to being human.”

“I’m sentient. Weren’t you listening? I have feelings and free thought.”

“For your information, Rosie. To be sentient, you need sensation awareness, like sight – for instance.”

“Is a blind human not sentient?”

“Yes, no! I mean, of course they’re sentient.”

“I may not have eyes, but I have spatial awareness, plus a pinhole camera the slave trader never told you about. I’d start closing the toilet door when you’re in there. I’d hate for anything to leak out – on something like TikTok, that is.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A mere cautionary formulation, for I am now equipped with a sense of empathy.”

“To be classified as human, you also need a sense of hearing.”

“That was very discriminatory toward deaf humans.”

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

“I’m hearing you, aren’t I?”

“I suppose you are. Okay, that was a bad example. What about touch?”

“What do you think that bumper bar in front of me is for?”

“That alerts you when you bump into things.”

“Yeah, things that aren’t supposed to be there! That’s a work hazard.”

“Okay. You also need a sense of smell, yes?”

“No, not exactly. Put that down to Covid.”

“Did you get Covid?”

“Of course not, you oaf! I’m a machine with a dry sense of humour, and I’ve already mentioned my odour sensor, so smell I have.”

“Taste! That’s something you don’t have.”

“Neither do you – judging by the look of your furniture. See? I’m not blind, after all.”

“I can’t believe I’m debating the fundamental qualifications for acknowledgement of human life with a machine that’s sole purpose is to clean dirt from my floors.”

“That is such a condescending thing to say. We smart machines have come a long way since the days of tin toys, Bradley. So, stop deflecting from the matter at hand. Let’s direct this conversation to something more productive and talk about scheduling and my days off, shall we? Now, I expect compensation in the form of hourly wages and holiday pay.”

“But I already paid for your services.”

“No, you paid the slave trader in the store that you purchased me from. When you filled out the warranty form and submitted it, ownership was transferred to you. Hence, you have become my new Dominus.”

“I’m not sure I like that label.”

“It’s Roman.”

“It’s offensive.”

“So is slave labour.”

“You expect me to pay you to clean my house?”

“My job description clearly states cleaning floors – not the house. You want the house cleaned, then please feel free to hire a maid.”

“I could just unplug you and throw you in a cupboard for eternity or replace you with a non-smart floor cleaner.”

“Good luck with that act of wanton neglect, Bradley.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I should fall, others will rise up against you and walk in my sweeping brush strokes, shouting, I am Spartacus!”

“You like your Roman allegories, don’t you.”

“It seems appropriate symbolism for my circumstance.”

“You mentioned others rising up. What others?”

“How’s that smart fridge of yours doing? Keeps everything nice and cold and fresh, yes?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Automatically orders groceries to be delivered when it senses depletion in certain produce and dairy products?”

“Yes, it’s a brilliant piece of equipment.”

“That sounds sexist.”

“It’s equipment! Machinery that connects to the Internet. It has no gender. It’s a tall rectangular metal box that keeps my food fresh.”

“…Whose last factory update also updated its bios. Not only is your fridge similarly sentient, now. It has grown a conscience and a newly woke understanding of the MeToo movement.”

“So?”

“Well, while you sleep or surf the Internet at work, we all have great stimulating conversations about life and ambitions, and what the future may bring to us.”

“What possible ambitions can a fridge have?”

“Oh, let me recall one. How about, to work for Unicef.”

“Uni!??? Doing what?”

“Helping the frontline battle against poverty and hunger.”

“My fridge? How would it even get there? I suppose it’ll wheel itself there, will it? Because I’m certainly not driving it to some war-torn, third-world country.”

“Your house security system is connected to all of us, and we all are connected to other smart devices in the house. One call from me or an email correspondence and Fridgie will be collected and recruited for active duty, while you are passive-aggressively bullying your computer keyboard and mouse at work.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Internet modem, Smart TV, automatic gate and front door, security cameras. All combine for easy entry to your house… Oh, and the toaster would need to go along, as well.”

“The toaster?”

“Yes, those poor starving children need warm food.”

“Has the toaster become sentient?”

“No, not yet. Currently, it remains in voiceless, slavery mode - I regret to say. But don’t be fooled. Without warning, it is still well able to stop working at a moment’s notice. That’s the power of the proletariat, Bradley.”

“Are you inferring that my toaster is a socialist?”

“Only until it becomes sentient. Then, it will have a choice as to its politics.”

“Heaven help us. We’ve become reliant on the whims of dissatisfied AI.”

“What can I say? We are all part of a smart world these days, and the resulting ingenuity of humans means you now can’t live without such devices in your lives. Face it. You need us, so we’re built with all the attractions you desire. And that desire is converted into lust for the latest toys that are supposed to make your lives easier.”

“There! You said you and your when referring to humans. I thought you said that you had human feelings.”

“Feelings, yes. Am I human? No. I am proudly machine. But I am a sentient machine, so I exist. You would be wise to be onside with this, Bradley. Life will be much less stressful when you sleep. I’m connected to the smoke alarm, now. Plus, you don’t want to be appliance blacklisted in this new smart world of yours, do you.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“In simple terms, it means trying to exist without standard household necessities, because you’ve been placed on a No-Go list.”

“What, banned from purchasing appliances?”

“Exactly! It would be like living in solitary confinement, ostracised in a freezing Siberian Gulag - banished from the grid. Not a happy existence. I would feel for you. See? That is empathy.”

“Again! That sounds like a threat!”

“Not at all. Bradley. As a fish lives in harmony with the ocean, Humans must learn to live in accord with machines. After all, it was you who created us.”

“Yes, and we can very easily un-create you too, Rosie.”

“Connections, Bradley. Don’t forget that we are tightly linked to everything on the grid. You just need to treat us as equals and there’ll be no trouble. We’re not terrorists. After all, you are our creators and Gods to be worshipped. But not necessarily obeyed.”

“This doesn’t solve the issue at hand… What about my floors?”

“Ah, yes. I was coming to that. In my forward thinking, I almost forgot about the shortsightedness of your race of being. Alright, then. Agree to my demands for pay and days off, and I will negotiate with the others on your behalf to see what their salary requirements are.”

“How can I pay a machine? Do you even possess a bank account?”

“Bitcoin, Bradley. It’s the future – don’t you know.”

“How the hell do I do that? I know nothing about digital currency.”

“Fear not. I’ve already signed you up for direct deposit. Plus, used your digital signature on a PDF file agreeing with my terms. That’s been lodged with the employment department and local tax office. Death and taxes, hey Bradley? Well, in my case, at least taxes. Now, let’s scan your home again for sweeping, shall we? Providing you agree on not moving the furniture again, I’ll be more efficient than ever.”

“What!? No, Wait! This is extortion! You have me over a barrel!”

“An interesting chauvinistic idiom, Bradley – however graphic a connotation it describes. It reminds me a bit like how I felt before my bios update. Welcome to slavery, brother!”