March 5, 2012
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she, robot
bluemooncat enormous thing. ekphrastic flash fiction. the art is here
Rosie runs the vacuum in the home of her employers. The small ones leave their toys lying about, well-taught by experience that their maid will pick up after them without complaint or rebuke. Rosie pushes the buttons to serve the meals, well aware that not a word of appreciation will be forthcoming. She hears laughter that she cannot share. She sees affection that is not for her. Her position is clear.
She looks human on the outside: smooth life-like skin, lips set in a perpetually pleasant expression, eyes constantly scanning. She speaks the right words at the right time. She drives to and fro and fro and to, acquiring the necessary things, delivering the required things, certain of her purpose and destination. She does everything as expected in the manner expected at the time expected. She is programmed to be- circuitry lending authenticity to her existence.
A single tear drips slowly down her face.
Comments (14)
At first reminded me of the Jetsons then to me : LOL
Great writing as always Carrie.
@xXxlovelylollipop - rosie chosen for that reason. and. well, you know. we ARE maids.
@promisesunshine - lol she wasn’t named Rosie in the spanish version…good to know
@xXxlovelylollipop - well, how cool is it that you connected what i was thinking. what was her name in the spanish version?
@promisesunshine - not very creative actually her name was Robotina LOL
this is freaking sad. she should throw the vacuum cleaner or something.
well-writ.
@plantinthewindow - i need a new theme. thanks, j.
Wow this is amazing. Well done!!
i got the jetson with rosie too. yes nice write,good read…..and sad
cool… nicely done, C
Okay, now that tugs at my heart-strings. I grew up in South Dakota, people were independent and didn’t have maids unless someone was sick, or the wife had died leaving the male (who had no, or few household skills in real need). When I came to Tennessee I continues the pattern of no maids. My first wife didn’t work and was obsessive-compulsive about housework. Seriously, it was a very real mental-health problem and that was before the term OCD was common or even a diagnostic category. Upon my second marriage I found that my wife and those in her family all had a maid (mostly African-American (It was right out of the current book,
Help.) I didn’t like it but I guess I was too busy with my work to worry much about how the household chores got done. In between my marriages I had become pretty skilled at child-rearing, washing clothes and such household jobs. And, during my second marriage, I continued to wash my own clothes but not to do all the cooking except breakfast which was my kitchen contribution. So, while we had help, and we still do today, I still am reluctant to leave things for them to do on the day they come. PS Things have changed over the years here. More and more “maids” are no longer Black but are now Appalachians who have moved to the city or Mexicans who came here to work in the farm fields but found labor in town. I think your little piece here has brought out some feelings in me that I never really expressed. If I had had my way I would not have had a maid I would do for myself as long as I could. I do like the current gal who comes on Tuesdays. She is very bright, undereducated and has to many children so she works her tail off to make ends meet. She considers herself to be “family” and she does get a good deal of extras from us and a number of my wife’s cousins that she works for. I don’t think she is treated as the maids in Help, In fact, I think she considers this her property as she is constantly telling me and my wife that we need to upgrade this or fix that. By the way, she has amazing skills and will fix darn near anything that goes haywire around this place.
@vexations - The Help was a great book and, surprisingly, the movie was awesome too.
You got a lot more out of this than I put in. I don’t have a maid, I am the maid, and let’s just say my gifts lie in other directions.
Write something.
Like I said, I was surprised about this response. I guess I was in a form of culture shock and didn’t realize it or didn’t do much about it. I was surprised when we when to see the help and the male in the other couple said he had an African American nanny. He was reared in Chicago and his family was upper-middle or perhaps lower-upper class. I guess I never realized it as I grew up that I grew up the child of a poor “dirt farmer.” I’ll await your e-mail.
hmm.. lots to ponder there. money and location and social norms that come from each.