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Confessions of a Fuck Up Artist
Nov. 20th, 2013 08:43 pmIt was a little before five in the morning when the carbon monoxide alarm began shrieking hysterical down the black corridors of sleep. "Danger! Low Battery!" It beeped and repeated until I stumbled out of a dream where I was caught in a Chinese finger trap located somewhere beneath a lover's waistband with her boyfriend the cannibal-biker about to walk in on us at any moment.
So I turn on the hallway light, look up at the alarm demanding to be fed a fresh 9V battery and hit the bypass button - which as it turns out was actually a button used to enable every carbon monoxide alarm in the house to perform the works of Kraftwerk simultaneously.
After a series of random jabs at the alarm with the end of a mop handle I finally hit something right and bypassed the low battery alarm to silence the house wide cacophony.
Crawling back into bed it took no more than a few moments for the alarm to beep meek behind the door, just once, and then in it's robot-lady voice apologize with a single "Sorry."
Which would be fine but it beeped again and repeated its apology. Then again a few minutes later and again before I realized I would never return to my dream lover, her cannibal biker and finger-trap tampon.
Well even though I'm not the most mechanically inclined of guys, I'm proud to report that it only took another twenty minutes of my night, a stool and a pair of hedge-clippers that I keep under my bed in case of a Triffid attack to solve the problem.
When I got back into bed I found I was unable to return to sleep and watched the dawn creep through the curtains wondering if maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't have had that last bourbon with my buddy at the Yacht last night.
Which was when my phone began beeping to inform me of an Amber Alert in my area and to kindly take a look around my room in case there were any missing children milling about.
As it was it turned out to be a very long day that followed.
So I turn on the hallway light, look up at the alarm demanding to be fed a fresh 9V battery and hit the bypass button - which as it turns out was actually a button used to enable every carbon monoxide alarm in the house to perform the works of Kraftwerk simultaneously.
After a series of random jabs at the alarm with the end of a mop handle I finally hit something right and bypassed the low battery alarm to silence the house wide cacophony.
Crawling back into bed it took no more than a few moments for the alarm to beep meek behind the door, just once, and then in it's robot-lady voice apologize with a single "Sorry."
Which would be fine but it beeped again and repeated its apology. Then again a few minutes later and again before I realized I would never return to my dream lover, her cannibal biker and finger-trap tampon.
Well even though I'm not the most mechanically inclined of guys, I'm proud to report that it only took another twenty minutes of my night, a stool and a pair of hedge-clippers that I keep under my bed in case of a Triffid attack to solve the problem.
When I got back into bed I found I was unable to return to sleep and watched the dawn creep through the curtains wondering if maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't have had that last bourbon with my buddy at the Yacht last night.
Which was when my phone began beeping to inform me of an Amber Alert in my area and to kindly take a look around my room in case there were any missing children milling about.
As it was it turned out to be a very long day that followed.
