What a peaceful setting, I thought.
Suddenly, a deafening thunder clap shattered the serenity. More accurately, three frightening noises erupted in quick succession. The startling BOOM of the thunder sounded almost simultaneously with a loud POP, setting off an ear-splitting alarm.
Jumping up from the chair, I searched the house, wondering if the POP and the alarm signaled a lightning strike. Thankfully, I found no evidence of fire.
Next step: stop the alarm that was piercing me to the core and traumatizing our two cats. Recently, a similar alarm had erupted when smoke detector batteries died. Even after I yanked out the old batteries, the alarm didn’t quit until I bought and inserted replacement batteries.
This time I have replacement batteries! I thought. Locating the batteries and a stepstool, I clambered up to reach the source of the deafening noise, a small white box attached high on a hall wall. As I swung the box open, praying my eardrums would not burst, the noise lessened by roughly half a notch. But my delight in that tiny reprieve quickly turned to dismay. Inside the box I saw no batteries.
Puzzled, I thought, The other smoke detector had batteries. Then, I realized: This was no smoke detector. It was the security system alarm. And I had no clue how make that dreadful noise go away.
Travelling on business, my husband answered his cell phone and advised me how to disarm the system. Didn’t work. The security system handbook offered no help beyond what my husband had suggested. It contained no customer service number.
Tracking down the number of the company that had installed the security system, I talked with the owner. He told me he could not come himself but would send someone in 20 to 30 minutes.
Only later did I learn: The man with whom I talked – the one whose company installed our security system – knows nothing about security systems. Further, the person he assured me would come in half an hour was out of town – and had no intention of driving two hours to accomplish a two-minute task.
That morning, I talked to the company owner three times and his voice mail twice. I also talked with the service man twice. My repeated and increasingly distraught pleas for help met with (a) repeated assurances that someone was coming, and (b) advice as to how to fix the problem myself – measures that either did not work or I had no clue how to do. Finally, the service man offered this thoughtful admonition, “Just go to work, and the noise will stop sooner or later.”
Of course, I work at home in the room directly over the renegade alarm. Further, the battery that needed disconnecting was a 48-hour one.
The good news is: I did not take a hammer to the white box on the hall wall. The bad news is: My cats and I endured that hellish noise for two hours and 48 minutes. Ultimately, my husband called a coworker, who came out on his lunch hour and disarmed the system.
I cannot express how maddening, how tormenting, a shrieking siren that refuses to quit, its shrill, pulsing sound pounding relentlessly, expelling peace, shattering normalcy, destroying the ability to concentrate or to accomplish anything. But I can tell you a greater torment, in words expressed centuries ago by a man named Job.
“I cry out for help, but no one hears me.”
. . . . . . .
Job 19:7 NLT
© 2008, Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.
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