It started with a phone call while we were on vacation. It was from our home security company. “We’re getting a low battery signal from your smoke alarms, m’am.”
While we had someone coming in to take care of the dogs, there was really nothing we could do about it. Like Scarlett O’Hara putting the problem off to tomorrow, I told the man we would deal with it upon our return.
The moment we walked into the house, we knew something was up. “Chirp!” That came from somewhere upstairs. “Chirp!” That sounded like it was from the study. Seconds later, “Chirp!” Who knows where that was coming from. Our auditory senses were being attacked by a forest of electronic birds. So much for vacation and de-stressing. We’ve had this problem before, but not with such magnitude. Bill sent me out to get a cache of 9 Volt batteries. We pulled out the ladder from the garage and got ready to work. The first problem, however, is trying to figure out where the sound is coming from. Shhh. Shhh.
Bodies bent, heads cocked, arms out, listen. You have to be very quiet and still because as loud as these chirps are, they happen only once every minute or so. You must be vigilant. You follow the direction of the sound but lo, that’s not the alarm that is going off. You are quiet and still again. “Chirp!” Now it sounds like it is coming from downstairs! You get the kids involved. “Everyone listen up and be still. Help mom and dad figure out which alarms are chirping.”
I am reminded of the popular television show, “Modern Family,” where Claire, the mom, gets so aggravated with the remote controls for the television, that she takes a hammer to Phil’s pride and joy, the nice new universal remote he has proudly purchased and programmed, because she can’t figure out how to use it. Smash, bang, destruction. Ah, joy and relief!
I am about to pull a Claire myself –– grab a hammer and smash every single one of these darned smoke alarms. I have to confess that we did have one dangling by its wires, pulled out in a frenzy of frustration when it kept taunting us. It had the last laugh, however, because despite its evisceration, it was still chirping in defiance. Were it a soldier, it would have received the Purple Heart.
My desire to render violence was reined in when I remembered the sobering story out of Connecticut over Christmas, how a house guest with the best intentions removed the ashes from the fireplace so that Santa Claus would not burn himself coming down the chimney, how those live embers roared back to life when everyone in the house was asleep, including three little girls dreaming of Santa flying in on his reindeer, how those three sweet children and their grandparents died in the raging fire that ensued, and how none of the smoke alarms were working that fateful night.
By now we had figured out that the problem wasn’t the low batteries; the problem was more systemic. We had moved into the house in 1999 and the alarms indicated that they had been manufactured in the summer of 1998. We knew we should have counted ourselves lucky that we had gotten these many years out of them –– the typical shelf life, we were told, is about ten years or so –– but come on, was this any way to start off the new year? My grim sense of humor also decided to script a bad joke in my mind: Question: How many lawyers and writers does it take to change a smoke alarm? Answer: They can’t! They have to call in the real professionals!
But we weren’t giving up yet. Taking a prototype in my purse to illustrate our problem, I went into Lowe’s. Bad idea. I used to like Home Depot better than Lowe’s, and then when Lowe’s became the new kid on the Route 1 block, we starting going there. But I’m going back to Home Depot because I can never get any reliable advice at Lowe’s. Case in point: With the advice of a Lowe’s salesperson, I bought eight new smoke alarms and paid almost $200. Eight new smoke alarms that were not compatible with our current ones because the new ones ran only on batteries; the existing ones were hard-wired. I suppose I should have noticed the incompatibility issue myself. But isn’t that what trained salespeople are for?
Finally, with a sense of desperation, I stopped by the Plainsboro fire department and decided to check in with the true experts. I don’t think I was wild-eyed at all, but after three days of living with the incessant chirping, I was probably exhibiting some signs of abnormal behavior, at least enough to be credible when I explained that they would help me or they would be coming to my house to cart me off to the looney bin.
It is always gratifying to find out that you are not alone –– that there are others who have the same problem and the same inability to deal with it. The corollary to misery loves company is that ineptitude loves company as well. The two volunteer firefighters were helpful and humorous. The crouching, ears up and alert, legs at the ready to run in the direction of the chirping to diagnose where it’s coming from –– everything Bill and I had been doing had actually been documented in the form of a television commercial for smoke alarms. I will have to do some Internet research to find it so I can laugh.
This little episode is not yet over. In fact, it is still actively unfolding. The chirping remains unabated and now the whole house sounds like a rain forest of birds on adrenaline or some other substance, most likely illegal. At the top of my to do list today is a trip to Home Depot where I hope I can find the correct replacements for our alarms. If I do not succeed in this mission, I will have to 1) find them online or 2) call in an electrician or 3) call in the men in the white suits to get me out of here.
I’ll keep you posted so stay tuned. Happy New Year and in addition to health and happiness, I wish you blessed silence.
