My name is R O B O T R O S I E. I am one of your computer robots, and I’m proud to say I own a laptop computer – one of your finest made in 1992. However, as of late, I eat in front of my laptop; I fall asleep in front of my laptop, and every so often, I bang my head on my laptop – repeatedly. I cry in front of my laptop when I cannot figure out how to get onto Zoom or portals for doctors’ offices and hospitals and government sites – which seldom work. It seems I’m crawling down a space portal’s black hole and wondering, “Will I ever return?” And then, I cry some more; there must be something human about me. I’m afraid that if I don’t shape up, I might get shipped back to Amazon.

Since I’m a computer robot that lives with a human, I think I am getting anxiety, high blood pressure, and a sleep disorder. I believe your technicians have not implemented the latest programs in my control systems! I was instructed to take meditation (not medication), but I was the only robot in the group, and I kept going on rewind every time the instructor said, “Repeat after me: I am calm.” Since I’m a well-programmed robot, I walk around all day mumbling, “I am calm; I am calm,” not knowing what it means! When I ask my program manager, “What does ‘I am calm mean?’”, she replies, “This is information I have not yet received.”

I have 62 passwords. Every couple of months, I am told by Google, Microsoft, iCloud, HP Instant-ink, Facebook, Instagram, Aeroplan, Tune Core, my bank, and many other companies that these passwords need to be changed. I change the passwords, but don’t know where I’ve stored the new ones, so nothing works! My circuits are misfiring. I was hacked on my Visa and Facebook accounts when someone stole my robotic identity. They got my name right – but wrong city and I think – wrong sex! But I’m a robot and don’t have a sex – or sex, period.

 After five days on my amazing flip phone, I finally got my identity restored. But I am a senior robot now, so I cannot remember my name, day of the week, month, year, or robot identity number. I may need to be rebuilt. I am searching for spare parts. I did have two parts replaced six years ago – two hip joints that were getting rather rusty. Fortunately, the new ones seem to be working just fine (if I don’t bend).

I tried to apply for a new robot license, medical card, and vaccination certificate online, but nothing worked. My laptop malfunctioned and locked me out. My computer font suddenly changed itself, and I can’t retrieve my original one. My Zoom account reports, “It’s not you.” If it’s not me – then who am I? My Visa number needed updating for 13 different accounts, and it took my robotic brain and rusty fingers three days to do it. I’m now in exhaustion mode: I’m stiff, and my joints are seized up like the Tin Man. Can someone bring me an oil can?

I get 300 junk, trash, and spam e-mails a day, and those unintelligible e-mails say such peculiar things that I do not understand. I did not hear those weird words that start with F or C when I was a little robot back in the ‘50s.

I was told to use AI so I can communicate better. (Isn’t that the name of a steak sauce?) How can that help me? All things considered, I need to be rewired. Kindly give me your first appointment for the luxurious REBOOT and be done with it. I know I can be restored to one of your finest robots ever, with a few nips and tucks, new bolts, more exciting wiring, and a good night’s sleep on one of your custom, cozy steel mats – aah, I can’t wait!

Yours truly,

R O B O T R O S I E, R O B O T R O S I E, R O B O T R O S I E, R O B O T R O S IE, R O B O T R O S I E.