Arriving at the outermost fringe of falling asleep, I heard it!
“Low Battery!”
Approximately ten minutes after having placed my bookmark where I left off reading ‘Zombie Outbreak Survival: Zombie Hive Incident #83-2005'' by Van Allen, and arriving at the outermost fringe of falling asleep, I heard it!
A glance toward my alarm clock confirmed the dawn of a new day at 12:11 AM!
To make sure the commercial outcry wasn’t a figment of my overactive imagination, I lay there through three more repetitions before I scrambled out of bed and made a beeline to reckon with the combination smoke/carbon monoxide detector on my office ceiling. En route, I thought back to my childhood when a malfunction in our doorbell caused it to ring sporadically during the wee hours of the morn until my father dismantled the wiring and corrected the situation. Though I digress, this incident inspired me to compose my first story at the age of twelve—“The Mystery of the Midnight Doorbell.”
Neither here nor there, as my late father’s mechanical aptitude never rubbed off on me.
Anything was up for grabs within reach after I climbed the step ladder, intent on disarming the alarm, and in a tearful frenzy to do so. Panicked over riling the other residents in repose. Panicked over how the round-robin alert would detrimentally affect my two cats. Hesitant to call a relative at that hour, and anxiety ridden about contacting the 24-hrs. Management maintenance service for the very same reason. I bit my bottom lip and gathered my wits about me to silence an alarm.
With my arms stretched taut overhead, I managed to twist off the base from the beast in a counterclockwise direction, Next, I slid open the compartment to remove both batteries. My delight in stifling “Low Battery” was short-lived. To my horror, the device began to chirp! Instead of holding down the reset button to drain any juice—I pressed it. The first time resulted in three long beeps and “Fire, Fire!” The second time, a rapid succession of beeps ensued with “Warning! Carbon Monoxide!”
Sweating profusely by now, I tugged at the outer pigtail wire on the base, but it wouldn’t budge for me. Then, I stuck my hand into the recess of the ceiling, yanking free a couple of wires. Still, the chirping persisted!
No other recourse at my disposal, I broke down and got in touch with maintenance. The patient gentleman tried to walk me through a simple operation, but I only succeeded in pulling out another ceiling wire, rather than tending to the base.
Needless to say, he had to come in person to remedy the situation.
Alarmed as I was over the poor timing for a revolting development, I’m where I need to be. Living in an apartment complex such as mine certainly eliminates the complexities of logistical procedures.
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My smoke alarm used to go off whenever I fried something in the kitchen. Opening the windows helped it to stop. I don't think my two smoke alarms are working anymore after 35 years. But I have two or three female smoke detectors in the house at night, so feel quite secure.
Ron