Chicago’s Hotel EMC2 employs robot butlers to deliver room service to guests

THE lift stops unexpectedly on the ninth floor. The door opens, and Cleo saunters in. She's adorably cute. And a robot.

Chicago's Hotel EMC2 prides itself on its geekiness.

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Its restaurant is named in honour of Albert Einstein, microscopes have been turned into lamps and rose-gold poles in the bathrooms hold test tubes with paper flowers in.

The Leonardo da Vinci quote in big letters by the entrance sums up the philosophy: "Study the science of art. Study the art of science. Develop your senses. Learn how to see. Realise that everything connects to everything else."

But such high-minded philosophical concepts tend to take a backseat once you spot Cleo and her compadre, Leo.

They are shameless gimmicks, sure, but if you're going to have a shameless gimmick, then having weirdly adorable robots that do room service is a very, very good one.

The theory is that they can bring things up to your room that you might need or have forgotten.

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In practice, this leads to curious guests lying about needing an extra towel or bottle of water just to see how the robots work.

Orders can be put in by phone or text, and a few minutes later, a message flashes up on the TV to indicate Leo or Cleo has arrived.

Open the door, and there's a robot outside — essentially a bin on wheels, but one that makes bleepy noises a little like R2D2 from Star Wars.

Cleo makes a whoopy sound as she opens her lid to reveal the towel, water and toothbrush I ordered.

She seems eager to please — like a puppy with a stick in its mouth — and there's a near-irresistible urge to give her a pat and say: "Good girl!" After she's pretty certain I've picked up all the precious goodies, she turns around and makes for the lift.

The digital screen on her front — her face, to all intents and purposes — bears a message to anyone she may encounter in the lift: "Pardon me, I'm on a delivery".

In the lift itself, a video plays of Leo and Cleo meeting up after a hard day's work delivering flowers. It's made to look as though there's a romance flickering between the two. It's gloriously silly, but it taps into why the idea of having them really works.

The technology is undoubtedly clever — to hook the robots up to TVs and lifts is an impressive degree of integration.

But watching them whizz around, burbling to themselves, it feels as though they are more like pets than staff.

And for all the desires to be the meeting point of science and art, it's more the meeting point of science and sentimentality.

The appeal is to human soppiness rather than scientific rigour or creativity.

And if that means hundreds of extra towel deliveries to put a few smiles on faces, then so be it.