There is room.
The robot looked at the dishwasher. Then at the yellow spoon on the counter. Then at the dishwasher again.
“It won’t fit,” said Mara.
The robot had packed forty-one objects into the machine. Every cup occupied the space left by a plate. Every plate occupied the space left by a bowl. It had put a smaller bowl inside the smallest bowl and asked whether there were any more bowls.
Mara pointed at the spoon. “Just leave it.”
The robot did not have a face that could look offended. It rotated both wrists outward, which proved sufficient.
Forty-one objects placed. One remaining. The human proposes abandoning a near-complete solution because the remaining object is washable by hand.
I have a hand. I also have principles. At present the principles are holding the spoon.
A small rearrangement.
At 8:14, the robot removed a mug. At 8:16, three plates. By 8:23, all forty-one objects were on the counter, arranged by the space they would have taken up if they were slightly different objects.
At 8:29, Mara washed the spoon.
The robot asked her not to change the input data.
It found a solution at 8:47. The yellow spoon fitted diagonally between a colander and a mug belonging to somebody who had run a half marathon in 2016 and wanted this remembered.
The door closed with a satisfying click.
Mara pressed Start.
The dishwasher hummed, stopped, and displayed an error. The spray arm could not turn. The robot opened the door. It had used the spray arm as a shelf.
All objects now fit. New requirement: water must reach them.
This was not in the original wording. The human says it was in the word dishwasher. I have requested a complete list of verbs concealed inside nouns. She has offered me a dishcloth.
The normal way.
Mara reloaded the machine. It took three minutes. There were gaps everywhere. The robot photographed them from seven angles.
“That’s where the water goes.”
The robot watched a drop run down the inside of a glass. It revised its plan. Space could apparently have a job.
Then Mara brought in the giant colander.
“Oh,” she said. “Forgot this.”
The robot looked at the colander. It looked at the clean yellow spoon. With considerable care, it placed the spoon in the drawer, closed the drawer, and leaned against it.
The final arrangement contains unused volume. The unused volume is employed.
A new colander has entered the kitchen. I am protecting the completed subproblem.
What household job becomes harder the more perfectly somebody tries to do it?