As I was getting the newspaper this morning I heard the rather disturbing sound of a smoke alarm going off in the distance. Somewhere there was that shrill, piercing noise that can only mean that somebody burned popcorn or boiled water.
So in an act of heroic thoughtfulness, I came back inside. (Don't worry, I didn't stay there.) I tracked down my slippers, woke my wife, got my coat and grabbed my keys. Because every hero needs a dorky sidekick or, in this case, a sexy partner in stretch leather, a cape and boots, Amanda set out with me in the wet morning to find the source of this noise.
Together we narrowed it down to not coming from any of the apartments in our complex. It sounded like it was coming from the neighborhood beyond our back wall, which was out of view. Resolved that we couldn't see or smell smoke and that we really didn't know what to tell the fire department if we did call 911 (no idea what the name of the street behind us is), we were ready to give up. Until...
I realized the sound was actually coming from the apartment complex's dumpster. Sitting on top was a mound of replaced smoke detectors. No one had taken the batteries out of them when they got upgraded to smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. I guess the rain shorted one of them out, thus the shrill noise. Battery removed, we went back in for breakfast.
Daily heroic duty accomplished.
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2 comments:
Heroic duties become less glamorous once you hit 33 . . . happy belated birthday.
Don't those smoke detectors contain mercury and require proper disposal at an environmental receptacle? Nice work, enviro-man!
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