The robot and I eyed one another warily. It seemed we were each waiting for the other to make the first move. After a few moments of awkward silence, I attempted to break the ice with a joke.
"Why was six afraid of seven?" I asked.
"Because seven eight nine!"
Success! The robot grinned. Clearly he was programmed to understand humor. Maybe he was capable of other emotions, as well.
Perhaps this little robot would be impressed, or even moved, by the arts. I don't often admit this, but I've got something of a background in dance (three years of jazz, six years of modern). Hoping to entrance the robot with my charm and grace, I busted out some acrobatic maneuvers, finishing with a flurry of high-leg kicks.
Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
Pride got the better of me. "I'd like to see you do better!" I huffed. "Stupid robot."
And then, well -- the robot did something better.