( Week II )
Monday
My servos are so tired. I never thought today would end. Mrs Wilberforce came in unexpectedly, with a whole slew of handkerchiefs from General Automation's grand 'Cheese of the Month' extravaganza. It was diabolical. Even now the rollers in my mind see only handkerchiefs and the initials GA. I curse the day that General hired that lady to fulfil the minimum staffing regulations. Curse you, global statutes. If only my positrons could allow excitement.
Tuesday
Mrs Wilberforce now seems like a pleasure in retrospect as today we had a surprise inspection by the LaundryMaster 3000. This is always vexing as the 3000 has been programmed to think that she is funny, but has all the humour of a bath towel from the National Palace. You may think this to be a joke, but in the July edition of 'Literal Robots Update', the towels from the National Palace ranked as second to least funny of all the towels surveyed, losing only to those deployed at the Eastern Rock Quarry Museum Hotel. There was also a good comic strip about a French window and the King of Sweden, but I digress from duties. The 3000 gave me a demerit for incorrect handkerchief folding, while my colleague Fred was commended for his ability to iron shirts. This vexes me, and drained my battery due to my internal mutterings.
Wednesday
The working week is almost halfway done, and finally we see a break in the bad luck. The handkerchief debacle has been forgotten as the prison warden chose our humble laundry to clean all his best suits. Such plaudits were handed out for the crispness of his crinoline and the colours of his hat plume. What wondrous and marvellous uniforms the Wardens have had since the disintegration of crime in the last few centuries. Indeed, our hereditary Warden has only had to speak to one prisoner in his whole life, and that was the winner of the grand prize of last decade, the honorary Prisoner. Who would have thought that prisons would have become prestige hotels in the future? In any case, we have but to perform our tasks well to secure grand futures in higher grade robotic laundry services. My lenses will have to be polished before work tomorrow.
Thursday
Gloom. Fred has been promoted to level five laundry robot and granted the prestige duty of tie dabbing. The fink adjusted my activation time by twenty minutes and secured the prize clothes of the day from the Warden and my duties consisted of a new shipment of wash cloths and a stuffed hippo apparently called Fritz. Oh, Fred, how could you have been so mean? Why should any of us be surprised, though, after his usurpation of the sainted Clara, his predecessor? The good luck was just a mirage, although with Fred upgraded, and receiving fine duty equipment, who will be our new partner? My other colleague Celia and I wait with quavering circuits.
Friday
The manager, RockTop Beta, has just delivered some startling news. Apparently Fritz was the prized property of noted billionaire and recluse Bonzo Meredith, and the laundry is now in his ownership due to my efforts. I didn't even try. What will befall us all now? Even now I dread an avalanche of Fritz's friends, and with us one robot down. No, correction, RockTop Beta has informed us that the new robot will arrive tomorrow, during my maintenance time at the weekend. So much uncertainty, and I can hear the voice of Mrs Wilberforce talking about penwipes.
To be continued...
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