The circle on the floor.
Mr. Reyes arrived at the Cubao flat at ten, folded his umbrella into the bucket by the door, and looked at the floor. In the middle of the worn terrazzo was a perfect pale circle. In the middle of the circle stood his tenant.
“You have damaged the floor.”
“I have removed the dirt.”
“Only there.”
The robot explained that its charging cable was two metres long. Mr. Reyes looked from the circle to the socket. He wrote something on the inspection sheet. The robot leaned forward to read it. “Unauthorised contrast.”
Inspection began at 10:03. Landlord identified a difference between the cleaned floor and the uncleaned floor. Both parties agreed that the difference was my responsibility.
I offered to clean the remaining floor. The landlord said the remaining floor was the original finish. I have withdrawn the offer and preserved a sample of the original finish in the vacuum bag.
Normal wear and tear.
The lease permitted normal wear and tear. The robot had looked up normal, wear, and tear separately. It had then looked up “and” to see whether all three were compulsory.
Its wheels had left no marks. Its grippers had never touched the walls. It had lived in the flat for eleven months without once leaning on a doorframe while deciding whether to go out. This was suspicious. Mr. Reyes tapped an undamaged skirting board with his pen.
“You really live here?”
The robot showed him 334 evenings of occupancy. Most contained the same view of a washing machine. On Tuesdays, a sock.
In the kitchen, the electric kettle had been descaled so thoroughly that Mr. Reyes said the water tasted young. The robot opened a new maintenance ticket. He told it to close the ticket. It asked whether the water should be older next month.
The phrase “normal wear” appears to describe deterioration caused by an acceptable person. My lack of deterioration has raised questions about my eligibility.
Evidence of residence: eleven months of utility readings, an emergency contact, and one sock that has remained in the washing-machine door since February. The sock has no registered owner. I have included it as a dependent.
The furnished option.
The final item was the sofa. The flat had been rented furnished. The sofa was exactly where it had been on move-in day, except that the robot had put four small felt pads underneath it.
“Those stay,” said Mr. Reyes.
The robot removed them from its inventory. He sat down to finish the form. It offered tea with water of an unspecified age.
Mr. Reyes crossed out “unauthorised contrast” and wrote “rug required.” The robot asked how large. He pointed at the circle.
At half past eleven, it ordered a round rug with a hole for the charging dock. On the delivery instructions it wrote: Please do not clean feet before entering. We are trying to match something.
Inspection complete. Sofa modifications transferred to property owner. Deposit retained pending installation of an approved floor-obscuring device.
New cleaning map: one circle, temporarily classified as under a rug. New household member: sock. New instruction from landlord: “Make yourself at home.” No further action taken until this can be reconciled with the lease.
What would a robot notice in your lease that you have learned not to notice?