The Daily Nusz

Last Tuesday, October 21, Kevin left to go out of town for several days.  That night, obviously, I was home alone.  I read for a while, turned on the house alarm before bed, and then turned off the bedroom light.  Within a few minutes, the house alarm started beeping.  It wasn’t actually going off, it was just beeping.  I turn on the light, grab my cell phone off the bedside table (we have no land line), and call the number on the alarm keypad.  The call doesn’t go through–it says “call failed” on the screen.  Hmm.  Try again.  Call failed.  Go downstairs and double check the number.  Call failed.  I try calling Kevin in San Francisco.  Call failed.  I realize that I can’t call anyone.  The incessant beeping of the alarm is making me feel panicky.

Then I remember that when I got home from having dinner at my neighbors house, I had opened the garage door and noticed that the door between the garage and the house was wide open.  It made me a little nervous, but then I remembered my garage door had been closed, and prior to leaving, I had quickly run back into the house to get something.  I figured that I had not quite closed the door tightly enough, and the cat had pushed it open the remainder of the way.

Of course, now it’s 1:00 am, and my phone is dead, my alarm is beeping, my husband is out of town, and my kids are sleeping upstairs.  Now that open door takes on a whole new significance.  I consider my options.  Do nothing.  Um, no.  I’d never sleep.  Run over to the neighbors.  Um, no.  What if the killer is out there, and when I come out he gets me?  Or even worse, he sneaks into the house while I’m gone and gets the kids?  Or what if my neighbors won’t answer their doors?  I mean, it IS 1:00 am, and my hair looks like Medusa’s.

So, I call 911.  It was the only number my phone would call.  They were very kind, and I was relieved that no words such as “hysterical female”, “waste of time” or ”big wimp” were murmured within my earshot.  While I’m waiting impatiently for the police officer to come, I send out this email to a bunch of my internet mommy friends:

Kevin’s out of town. Set the alarm for the night. Read in bed, switch off light.

Shortly afterword, alarm beeps. Beep. Beep.

It doesn’t go off, it’s just beeping. “Trouble” light is on. Beep. Beep.

I try to call the alarm company with my cell phone. Call failed. Redial. Call failed. Over and over.

I remember that when I had arrived home at 7pm, I opened the garage door, and the door between garage and house was open. Thought I just left it open. Maybe someone in house? That was hours ago.

Get spooked. Try calling Kevin. Call failed. Remember the alarm is hooked to cell phone, since we do not have a land line. With apprehension, I turn off alarm. Call failed. Call failed.

Dial 911. Explain that I’m alone. Husband out of town. 2 kids.

Sending police.

I’m waiting.

They sent out a police officer, who, I’m sure, had a lower IQ than my cat.  He stands around and scratches his head for awhile, then I gently suggest that he get his cell phone out of his car and let me call the alarm company.  His face lit up at my suggestion, clearly relieved to have found a potential solution.  I call the company, and they say that the alarm is beeping because there is something wrong with the cell phone tower, and since our alarm “goes through” the cell phone, the alarm is now not working.  But why does the police officer’s phone work and mine doesn’t when we are both probably getting our signal from the same cell phone tower?  The woman on the phone just keeps repeating that the alarm company is not at fault.  So I hang up, hating to accept that I am not going to have a cell phone tonight. 

I suggest that the police officier use his cell phone to call my cell phone.  He does, and my phone miraculously rings.  It seems to be working.  I send him on his way, call Kevin to further test my phone, and sleep restlessly the remainder of the night.  The alarm still doesn’t seem to be working.

The next morning, my friend Kelly calls, and I tell her what had happened.  We chuckle over the fact that I got to be the crazy lady who calls the police in the middle of the night.  Background:  We have a crazy lady (that’s her name, seriously.  Crazy Lady.  If you say that, everyone knows who you’re talking about.) in our neighborhood on whom the police is constantly called.  More about her later, cause she’s interesting.  Then, over the last couple months, we’ve had one death, a domestic dispute, and a couple of other random police calls.  I guess it was my turn to call the police.  For about an hour on a Tuesday night, I got to be Crazy Lady.

Additional note:  I sent out that cryptic email to friends that night, then forget to follow it up with a “I’m fine” email.  I left the house for the day, turned off my phone because I was at a deposition, and my friends were like, “Tara?  Are you okay?!”  Ooops.