In the course of my career, I’ve had to deal with many alarms. To be honest, it’s not my favourite part of the job. Little did I know, last weekend, it was about to become worse!
Saturday afternoon, I headed west to Blue Mountain to take measurements and pictures at my new (and fab) listing. When I arrived in the driveway, I did notice a rather annoying buzzing outside of the house. I walked around the lot, checked out the shed, and made my way to the door. More loud buzzing. Armed with my alarm code instructions, I opened the door and thereby released a torrent of alarm decibels which I liken to being at a rock concert and being sat INSIDE the speaker. Desperate to shut down the cacophony, I punched in the alarm code. Nothing. Tried again. Nothing but NOISE. Head is now splitting. I notice an instruction sheet, and decided to try it again. DISCORD. Now nauseous, I ran from the house, prepared to lose my lunch. Moments later, I was able to compose myself enough to call the alarm company. Their customer service department tried to help by phone – I followed their instructions, yelling over the sound of the alarm. Meanwhile, concerned neighbours were discreetly peering out windows at me, no doubt wondering what on earth was going on at that house! Next I called the owners. They have never had a problem and don’t know what could be wrong, but would call the alarm company and allow them to talk to me.
Now I have to say, by this time, I had to take frequent walks outside, as my head was throbbing like a disco ball, and I was reeling with vertigo. The alarm was still wailing. Neighbours are now walking their dogs by the house to ascertain why on earth that dizzy broad wasn’t turning off the alarm. They recorded my license plate number.
Now approaching two hours at a house that should have taken me 15 minutes to measure and photograph, I chatted with a technician who had me enter a series of codes into the alarm panel. Because of the noise, I had to leave the house each time to hear him. The last set of codes unleashed a new fresh hell of screaming from the alarm. The technician told me there was nothing wrong with the alarm. “Have you checked the smoke alarms in the house?”
Well, I hadn’t. Sheepishly, I answered, “no.” Upon inspection of the smoke alarms, I found the ear-splitting culprit and thanked the technician. Next, I had to rip that squealing thing from the ceiling before my headache actually did split my head in two. Alas, it was on a very high ceiling, and I am a mere 5’6” tall. I called my hubby and yelled at him (as I could no longer hear how loud I was talking), to come quick and bring tools. And a ladder. And hurry. He was shopping and dropped everything to come to my rescue, but after surveying the situation gently asked why I hadn’t simply walked up the open staircase and reached through the railings to remove the offending alarm.
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