Good Help is Hard to Find

By Wine 
 

I wrapped a handkerchief around my finger and ran it across the top of the china cabinet. Dust marred the pristine white cloth. A quick check found more dust on each tall piece of furniture in the room. This simply would not do. 

One room at a time, I toured the rest of the house. They appeared clean, if one didn’t look too closely, but a diligent eye revealed that the out-of-the-way spots had not received the attention they needed. 

My servitor knew better than to perform her duties in such a lackadaisical manner. She knew my standards as well as I did. Better, in fact. 

I tracked her down in the living room, vacuuming the carpet in front of the couch. I stopped in the doorway and watched her clean. 

She moved the vacuum with stiff, mechanical motions, covering the area with methodical sureness. That was the precision I expected of Amanda and it didn’t tally with the mediocre performance I was finding elsewhere. 

My friends chided me for stooping to allow my servitor a name. They thought it undignified. Well, too bad. I was old enough to do what I wanted to. I thought it built a rapport and improved the efficiency of my servitor.  

“Amanda,” I said, pitching my voice to be heard over the vacuum. 

She turned off the vacuum and faced me, her eyes downcast. “Yes, Ma’am?” 

“I’ve found some dust and other items that concern me. Come along.” 

In each room, I pointed out the deficiencies. I didn’t bother asking why she had performed at less than my standards. I’d learned years ago that the answer would be incomprehensible to me. The important thing was ensuring results. 

“I expect that these will be corrected before dark,” I said. “Am I clear?” 

Amanda nodded. “Of course, Ma’am.” 

I watched as she retrieved her cleaning supplies and started correcting her failures. She moved stiffly, having difficulty reaching some areas. That troubled me. Perhaps a service call would fix the issue. 

Leaving her to her tasks, I went into the kitchen and called the service company. They assured me that a technician would be over between the hours of 8 AM and noon tomorrow. As if they were ever that timely. They were worse than the cable company. 

* * * * * 

The technician pulled into the driveway at three the next day. I suppose I should count my blessings that he showed up at all. 

He was, of course, apologetic. I accepted the discount on the service call as the best I was going to get in the way of compensation for my wasted time. 

As soon as he set his tool kit on the kitchen table, I summoned Amanda and left him to examine her. I didn’t understand all the gauges, monitors, and so forth anyway. 

The technician called me into the kitchen a few minutes later. Amanda was not present. 

“Where’s Amanda?” I asked. 

“Amanda?” The technician checked his clipboard. “Is that what you call your unit? That’s… unusual.” 

I gave him a short, direct look. “I’m not paying you to be curious about what habits I keep.” 

He nodded. “You’re right. My mistake. I’ve finished the checkup and I’m afraid I have bad news. This unit is defective and I don’t think repair is practical.” 

I frowned. “She’s been with me for over thirty years. I’d rather not have to replace her.” 

“This unit is one of the originals. Repair is always problematic with the early units. The newer models last longer, are modular, and are easier to train to the specifics of your needs. They also come with a much longer warranty period.” 

I cocked my head. “That sounds like a sales pitch. I’d rather repair the unit I have. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into getting the results I demand. What can be done and how much will it cost me?” 

He shrugged. “The limbs are shot, the upper and lower sets, both. They’re worn out and its performance will only get worse from this point on.” 

“How much to replace them?” 

“That’s the problem. This unit was never designed to be repaired in that way. If it were a newer model, I could use something off the shelf and have this fixed today. The originals were not designed with easy replacement of parts.” 

“I see.” I rubbed my forehead. This wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear. “And if I decide not to go with a replacement unit?” 

“Then this unit’s performance will get progressively worse.” He started packing his tools away. “Look, I can’t tell you to replace it, but I’ll be honest with you. This is only the beginning. There’ll be more serious failures in the future. The first generation servitors don’t last nearly as long as the current models and fail at the drop of a hat.” 

“I don’t know if I can afford to replace Amanda. I’ve seen the ads and the new models aren’t cheap.” 

“You get what you pay for, but that’s your decision. However, if you go with replacement today, I can offer you a discount, as well as good payment options. I’ll even give you credit for the old system’s recycling value.” 

I sat in one of the kitchen chairs. “I’d hoped to avoid this.” 

“You don’t have to decide today. Call us at any time and we can have a new unit here the same day.” 

I shook my head. “If something needs to be done, best do it quickly,” I said. “How much for the replacement and what are your payment options?” 

We haggled for a few minutes before settling on mutually acceptable terms. I signed the papers and he promised to have a new unit here today. Right. Just like he’d been on time. I’d be lucky to have a replacement by tomorrow evening. 

I summoned Amanda while he put his tools back into his truck and sent her out to join him. I didn’t bother to explain that she was being replaced because it would’ve been tedious and she wouldn’t have understood anyway. 

I took a few minutes to gather her paperwork after they left. I might as well recycle that, too. No use being sentimental about this.  

Still, I had difficulty just throwing it away. I sat at the table and put it in a small stack and picked up the top item: a newspaper clipping, old and yellowed. 

Nobel Prize awarded for robotic AI design. Doctor Amanda Tipping was awarded the Nobel Prize in Geneva today for her groundbreaking work in designing the first functional artificial intelligence for use in domestic servants. She prophesized that one day every home would be managed by one. 

I tried to read on, but my eyes didn’t seem to want to focus. I unscrewed one and pulled out a handkerchief to clean the lens before going back to my reading. I would miss my creator. 

Perhaps a nice oil bath later would make me feel better.