Going once. Going twice. Going to charge.

At 8:40 in the entirely fictional Salcedo household, domestic robot Tavi announced that it had ten minutes left before it needed to dock. It reserved two for returning to the charger. This left eight minutes of useful work, a quantity the family immediately recognized as insufficient to contain its ambitions.

“The shoes,” said Mina. “The breakfast things,” said her brother. Their father requested that Tavi find the television remote. Their mother asked it to finish labeling a box for tomorrow. From the hallway, a voice added, “And just quickly sort out the cupboard.” The cupboard was not admitted as a candidate because “just quickly” had failed its first measurement.

Tavi displayed four jobs with deliberately fictional time costs. Finding shoes: three. Clearing breakfast: four. Finding the remote: two. Labeling the box: five. The family stared at the total. Then Mina offered to fold a towel in exchange for first place. Within a minute, the last eight minutes had become an auction with no agreed currency.

Current charge announcement: ten minutes in this story’s simplified schedule. Return reserve: two. Available allocation: eight. This is an invented household game, not a battery estimator; actual equipment would require a different account of energy, travel and uncertainty.

Bids received: one towel, half a biscuit, an enthusiastic promise to tidy later. I cannot convert these into minutes. The biscuit would also require a new maintenance category.

I have kept the reserve visible. The father has suggested that the charger is “only over there.” I can see it. Visibility is not a substitute for arriving.

The remote became essential because a program was starting. The box became essential because tomorrow was approaching, as tomorrow tends to do. The shoes became essential because Mina had one on and objected to the asymmetry. Breakfast became essential because ants, who had not been invited to bid, had submitted an extremely persuasive delegation.

Tavi refused the bids and asked what each job prevented. Mina could find the shoe while hopping. Her brother could clear the dishes. The remote could remain a mystery for an evening. The label on the box was needed before the parcel went out, but the parcel was not leaving tonight. Every task still mattered to someone. They did not all have to be assigned to the robot.

The family tried a different plan: Tavi would clear breakfast and find the shoes, using seven minutes. Mina would write the box label. Their father would find the remote, a prospect he described as an excellent opportunity for someone else. One minute remained unallocated. Tavi kept it that way.

An unallocated minute is being mistaken for a clerical error. I have explained that if a spoon rolls under a chair, the schedule should not require the chair to apologize.

The task list has changed less than the ownership list. Humans are taking work back without declaring the whole system a failure. This is promising. A household is more than one machine’s queue.

The father offers to trade his search for two future searches and a favorable review. I decline to borrow tomorrow’s time. Tomorrow has already received an opening bid from the cupboard.

The shoes were underneath the breakfast table. Finding them while clearing breakfast looked like a splendid efficiency improvement until Tavi discovered that one shoe contained a spoon. The saved minute paid for checking the shoe rather than returning it with a metallic surprise.

At 8:48, Tavi headed for the charger. The family watched it go. “While you’re passing,” their father began. Then he looked at the displayed reserve and finished the sentence differently: “I’ll move that bag.” He lifted a shopping bag off the route. The robot reached its dock. The remote was in the bag.

Nobody received a perfect service. Breakfast was cleared, Mina had two shoes, the box had a handwritten label and the cupboard remained an ambitious long-term institution. The father found the remote through a method he later described as strategic route management. Tavi recorded it as a human noticing something while helping.

The little allocation game does not identify a universally correct household priority. It makes the constraint visible. Try packing every attractive job into the budget, then try leaving a reserve and deciding who can do the rest. A schedule can be full without being a good promise.

End of shift: dock reached; reserve preserved; one spoon relocated from footwear to the appropriate branch of civilization. The empty minute was used. This does not mean it should have been promised in advance.

I am charging while the family debates whether finding the remote inside the bag qualifies as completing two tasks. There is no trophy. They are making one from the biscuit wrapper.

For tomorrow I have requested a small change to the interface: beside “What do you want done?” a second question, “What can you take care of?” The cupboard has submitted no answer. The family is working on it.