The dying beep of a life-saving device

Note: This column appears in the 3/3 issue of The Glendale Star and the 3/4 issue of the Peoria Times

Not long ago my wife called me from a friend’s house to help walk them through a pseudo-emergency. Our friend’s smoke alarm was losing battery power and was beeping intermittently, yet incessantly.

I received the call not because I am a manly man, or because I am adept at diffusing such devices. Quite the opposite with regards to both, actually. I do, however, have major experience with beeping alarms of all varieties. Nevermind that my solutions to these beeping problems have been, for the most part, temporary and/or wrong. I mean, they had to call someone.

My experience with beeping smoke alarms began when we still lived back east. Apparently, these devices lose battery power during extreme weather, so whenever the temperature outside dipped below a certain point and our heating system couldn’t keep up, the intermittent beeps would start. This always—always—happened around 3 a.m., and my wife would jump up worried the house was on fire and begin the evacuation process. I would assure her it was just the battery, and then I would change said battery on the smoke alarm, which wouldn’t work, so I would change it again, and then again.

Changing the battery, thinking it had worked, and then, after crawling back in bed, hearing a faint “beeeep” is one of the great thrills of home ownership. Eventually—after pulling several of these devices out of the ceiling in fits of frustration and stomping on them “Office Space” fax machine-style—I realized the beeps would continue for a while after the battery was changed. When would they stop? Who knew? Wednesday, maybe? It was our favorite game!

The West Valley, though not privy to extreme cold, still boasts complex and outdated smoke alarms that have the battery life of a rechargeable toothbrush. A few factors here make matters even worse. For starters, we now have like, 10 smoke alarms in the house, so when one is losing battery power and beeping, I have to go on a wild goose chase to discover which one it is. Meanwhile, our dog, who would fight an elephant but who is deathly afraid of these beeps, runs around the house barking in an attempt to get outside. Also, our ceilings are much higher here—my head is never more than six inches away from any ceiling in New Jersey—and so I have to chase the beep while carrying a broomstick (for the reset button; never works) and/or our 12-foot ladder.

As if that’s not enough … Unaware our smoke alarms doubled as carbon monoxide detectors, we purchased two separate carbon monoxide detectors for our home inspection when we became foster parents. They plug directly into an outlet and have a battery for back-up power. Somehow, these batteries still get drained. When they beep, my wife, worried carbon monoxide has leaked into the home, jumps up and yells, “We’re not going to die a slow death!” and begins the evacuation process.

The first time I encountered this problem, I simply pulled the carbon monoxide detector out of the outlet. This was the worst decision I have ever made in my entire life. It resulted in one, louder, sustained, ear-piercing beep, and I was convinced either the device or myself was going to spontaneously combust right then and there. I needed a screwdriver to remove the battery, and by the time I was able to accomplish this amidst the chaos and confusion, my ears were ringing and my wife and daughter were huddled in the middle of the street.

So yeah, I have experience. Based on that, I calmly informed my wife to tell our friend to change the battery 12 times and then rip the alarm off the ceiling and smash it to pieces. It was—I feel like I could end each one of my columns with this sentiment—a good thing I was there to help.


The pinnacle of technology.

No cause for alarm—son-in-law is on the scene

Note: This column appears in the 1/13 issue of The Glendale Star and the 1/14 issue of the Peoria Times

Last week the alarm went off at my in-law’s house here in AZ. The alarm company called my father-in-law, who was back east, to inform him. Being that their house is in our development, he then called us, first to make sure we hadn’t set it off, then to ask if I wouldn’t mind going to check it out. The alarm had been deactivated and the police were on the way.

Assuming it was nothing, I drove over there. It was a sunny Saturday in the middle of the afternoon, and that is when criminals sleep, I figured (I didn’t study Criminology in college, but I know someone who did).

When I arrived at the house the police were not there yet, and I suddenly realized I had forgotten the keys. This was somewhat of a relief because during the three-minute drive my mind began to race with possibilities. What if someone really is robbing the house? What will I do? The only weapons I had available were my cell phone and some coins from my car that I could have placed in my fist … to toss at the crook to blind him as I ran away.

The street was eerily quiet, too. Usually all of their neighbors are out and about, but no one was around. Inside job? Maybe. I called my father-in-law to tell him I was there but forgot the keys. He was so proud. I instead checked the perimeter. I had just finished jogging when he called, so I was wearing a hoodie, and with the way I was hoisting myself up on block walls and peeking through windows made me fear that if the cops had shown up then, I might get tasered myself.

I didn’t see any activity, but the thought of seeing a figure swoop by as I looked into the side window of the front door made me squirm. Realizing that I would be no help to the police without the keys—unless they kicked the door down, which would have been awesome—I rushed back home to get them. As I pulled out of our driveway my wife reminded me to be careful. “These are the risks you take when you marry a guy like me,” I thought. When I arrived back at my in-law’s, the police were thankfully right behind me.

Even with an armed officer of the law at my back, it was a bit unnerving to open the front door. I debated asking him to “cover me” before rolling on the ground as I entered the house, but he didn’t seem in the mood for shenanigans. And neither was I, really.

As we moved through the house, the freaky feeling I had confirmed that if I had remembered the keys in the first place, I would have opened the front door, yelled, “Hello in there?” and left. We made our way to the master bedroom, where the alarm had been triggered. The officer checked behind doors and looked for signs of entry. In an effort to be an active part of the search, I crouched down and looked under the bed. This later struck me as stupid, and I imagined that the officer thought to himself, “Rookie. Kid’s seen too many movies.”

The coast was clear, and nothing was missing. The officer figured the alarm had a glitch. I called my father-in-law to give him the good news: “That’s a negative on forced entry, Eagle One. False alarm. Over.” Man, I should have been a cop.