Beep
After 18 wonderful days filled with baby drool instead of organizational behavior statistical surveys and something I'll graciously call "apartment food," I have returned to the abyss. Unfortunately, the abyss was beeping.
Sometime over the break, the battery for the smoke detector in my apartment died, which it announced to anyone within a half-mile radius with a short, loud, high-pitched brrip every thirty seconds or so. Unfortunately, the device sits about ten feet up the wall above my bedroom door, so even up on my size-11.5 tippytoes perched on a chair, I could not reach it, let alone duct tape a pillow over the speaker. I called the 24-hour maintenance line, and possible highschool graduate "John" called back to tell me that since the incident was not classified as an emergency, and his services would not be reimbursed, I was indeed excrement out of fortuity.
"So are you guys going to pay for a hotel room so I can get some sleep?"
"Nope."
"Is there a ladder somewhere in the building so I can take it out myself?"
"Nope. Plus, it's hard-wired 110, and it's a pain in the ass even with the six-foot...so..."
"Yes, I'm sure you're a highly trained professional."
"Hmm?"
"Happy New Year, John."
So I went to sleep somewhere between 12:30 and 3 am, feeling like a guy in a coma hooked up to a machine, with the loudest, slowest heartbeat on record.
What was the name of that TV show where the guy's lone super power was the ability to slow down his vital functions so he could pretend he was dead and thus solve mysteries in morgues and stuff?
Sometime over the break, the battery for the smoke detector in my apartment died, which it announced to anyone within a half-mile radius with a short, loud, high-pitched brrip every thirty seconds or so. Unfortunately, the device sits about ten feet up the wall above my bedroom door, so even up on my size-11.5 tippytoes perched on a chair, I could not reach it, let alone duct tape a pillow over the speaker. I called the 24-hour maintenance line, and possible highschool graduate "John" called back to tell me that since the incident was not classified as an emergency, and his services would not be reimbursed, I was indeed excrement out of fortuity.
"So are you guys going to pay for a hotel room so I can get some sleep?"
"Nope."
"Is there a ladder somewhere in the building so I can take it out myself?"
"Nope. Plus, it's hard-wired 110, and it's a pain in the ass even with the six-foot...so..."
"Yes, I'm sure you're a highly trained professional."
"Hmm?"
"Happy New Year, John."
So I went to sleep somewhere between 12:30 and 3 am, feeling like a guy in a coma hooked up to a machine, with the loudest, slowest heartbeat on record.
What was the name of that TV show where the guy's lone super power was the ability to slow down his vital functions so he could pretend he was dead and thus solve mysteries in morgues and stuff?
posted by Dan at 1:21 PM
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