( Week II , Week IV )
Monday
The mind of a robotic laundry operative does not easily cope with whole missing days in its memory. Over the weekend maintenance period, the temporal gap caused by the contents of Professor Bramble's bizarre yellow coat gnawed into my memory registers like detergent into a badly kept bowler hat. What might have happened? Fortunately, the usual business of Monday kept me distracted. This week has begun with Celia and myself detailing and reforming the traditional robes of the Lord Mayor, who happens at the moment to be a hippopotamus. Ever since the previous incumbent, a giraffe called Mabel, passed away, the laundry bill has quadrupled. Plainly, the lord mayoral keepers are not at their best, but fortunately that august office rotates its business around all the laundry establishments in order to not show favoritism. Celia tells horrid stories of the laundry of Mabel's predecessor, which I have steadfastly refused to believe up until now. What madness, in letting public offices fall to water dwelling mammals!
Tuesday
A small blue chap with a red hat, suspiciously similar to he who cleaned up after the Bramble incident, came in today with a bag of identical red hats and a little ball on a piece of string, hanging from a stick. As he handed over the bag, he tried to discreetly wave the ball over in my direction but I dodged. It seemed to light up, in a most surprising manner near the middle washing machine, the one we call Fred or the Boulder, depending on our moods. Looking disappointed, the little being left, and we continued on with our duties. Today was a three robot day, yesterday having the Windslow Cup, a charity golf tournement in aid of the Prison. You might wonder why we still have a Prison, when we only have one ceremonial Prisoner, who is treated like royalty. These things are not for mere laundry robots to contemplate. Bobbie had been very quiet today, but then went berzerk five minutes before closing time, tried to wash all the ties in a giant colander, and has been taken away by Rocktop Beta for extended analysis. I suspect the owners bought Bobbie on the cheap...
Wednesday
Today was a supplemental maintenance period. I listened to my occupational therapist BoomBoom explain that last week's amnesia must not be lingered on, and that life was about the future as much as the past. I retorted that it was alright for him to lecture, as he still had all his marbles. Then, BoomBoom started telling jokes from his two hundred year old joke book and I stopped listening.
Thursday
Our newest owner, reclusive millionaire Bonzo Meredith, visited and inspected us today. He had a fake moustache and wore a gorilla suit. I sense that the mental health of our wealthy citizens has finally begun to improve. He even managed to read our names from the labels we bear as laundry operatives. I sometimes wonder just how humans managed to create the world we live in. Celia told me, when I relieved her at the beginning of the day, that Bobbie had been one of Meredith's household robots until an incident with a mechanical rice picker and a bottle of exotic liqueurs led to an unfortunate breakdown. Apparently, Bobbie's current state is an improvement. This is hard to believe. Tomorrow, is my second scheduled maintenance of the week, thank goodness. I want to ask BoomBoom what he knows about Meredith.
Saturday
I'm writing now from an unknown place. My last working day of the week was inexplicable. The little blue being came back, this time with a suitcase full of odd socks, which he claimed were his employer's. Upon loading the socks into my special sock tank, the little fellow suddenly pulled out the ball on the stick and waved it around me. It glowed pink, he said, 'Oh my!', and I vanished into this inexplicable place. How I wish I had more non-laundry related vocabulary in order to explain it better! There's a large tower generator in one corner, and a big book on a column. I had best now shut down in order to conserve battery power, being disengaged from the laundry network.
There shall be more...
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