Fifteen minutes later the smoke detector chirps. Maybe it was a fluke, let’s wait it out…chirp. Uggghhh! I get out of my warm bed, throw on my boxers and run down two flights of stairs to get the ladder from the garage. Our detector is about 12 feet off the ground on a vaulted ceiling, nice call home builders. I manage to stand with one leg on the top rung of the ladder and the other on the top of the door frame. I glance down and notice that my blinds are open, so the Indians across the way (dots not feathers) have a great view of my Bahliwood. I look at Amy and say Slumdog Millionaire, more like, Slumdog Underwear. HAHAHA, see what I did there, I changed Millionaire to underwear, because they’re Indian and I was in my underwear. Let me know when they create a show called “I Know I Am Funnier Than a Fifth Grader”, because I would totally win that shit.
Anyway, I manage to unscrew the detector and get the battery out. Victory! Put away the ladder and crawl back into my bed. Two minutes later…chirp. Son of a bitch! It’s midnight, I am half naked, sweaty, wearing my glasses and growing oh so bitter by the minute. I go downstairs to get a new battery, but we are out of 9-volts. I steal one from the baby monitor and of course I have to test it by putting my tongue between the two nodes. Oh, that familiar tingle, we are in business. Now that it’s wet, I also have to check it on each of my nipples. Ooh yeah, we have a live one here, but no time for simple pleasures, its fireman Craw time.
I climb the ladder, replace the battery, connect it back to the ceiling and jump back under the covers. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. This time, my mind starts messing with me, was it this detector or was it one of the other three that are within five feet of each other on our top floor? Let the hearing test begin. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. Ok, I don’t think it was in here, close that door and let’s listen again. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. It was definitely in here! So I break out the ladder and go into my Cirque du Soleil balancing act. This time I press the reset button on the detector, it shrieks like a ten year old girl playing dodge-ball and then it’s silent. Ok, let’s see if that worked. Wait for it…chirp! Fuck me, back up the ladder I go.
This time I take out the battery, disconnect the detector from the ceiling and throw it on the bed. Once again we shut down shop and get ready to sleep…chirp. Really? Much like Dick Clark, this thing just won’t die. I take this piece of shit alarm into the bathroom, grab the scissors, and like a rookie bomb expert I start randomly cutting wires, red. black, gray, white, anything that looks like it’s connected to something. I throw it away, turn off everything and settle back in. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…silence. That’s right smoke detector, say my name bitch! I love taunting inanimate objects with irrational requests.
I wish I could say this was my first time in the ring with a smoke detector that wouldn’t die, but that is not the case. I’ve gone many rounds with these circular white discs that seem to do more harm than good. It’s like they sit up there on the ceiling, draining batteries, just waiting for me to cook up some bacon, or settle in for a night’s slumber, and then they scream “Hey, look at me. I am going to annoy the shit out of you for then 20-30 minutes, good luck shutting me off, fucker!” ---
Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go apologize to the neighbors and buy a future adversary.
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