At a quarter after five, I am awoken.
Again.
A little after one this morning, Chester was howling in his sleep. Sometimes he does that. Another time, I had to teetee. Another time, I was hot. Plus it had taken me forever to get to sleep, because some redneck down the road was shooting joyfully till past ten last night.
I laid there, wondering what it was that had disrupted my slumber this time.
After a few moments, I heard a short, faint beep. That’s weird. I have very few things in this house that beep. It had to be a smoke detector. But no, that’s not right, either. My smoke detectors have a built in battery that are supposed to last ten years. And they’re not even two yet.
But still. Definitely a beep.
Nothing to do but get up, which overjoys my roommate (the one with a tail, y’all, calm down). I come to the other end of the house and it’s slightly louder, but the source doesn’t seem to be upstairs at all. There is another 10 year detector downstairs. And what’s that voice? Or was that my stomach? Another minute or two and I heard it again. I don’t know of ANYTHING in this house that talks to me. I’m limited on technology over here. I checked my Amazon purchases to be extra sure I wasn’t losing my mind on the smoke detectors. Nope. 10 years. Purchased September 30th, 2023. I bought that type for this very reason.
I sigh and trudge downstairs, fully committed to finding the culprit now.
I walk over to the other alarm. While I’m standing there, daring it to go off, something beeps from the opposite end of the basement. I’m fully perplexed now. My freezer and washer and dryer are the only other things down here that require power. I stick my head in the laundry room. 5:30 and all is well.

I’m standing there, hands on my hips, eyes narrowed, surveying the basement, and it goes off again, right above my head. “Low battery,” a woman’s voice states calmly, for probably the 20th time.
I look up.
Another fire alarm, obviously installed by my former husband, that I wasn’t aware of.
I sigh and drag a chair over.
I go to pull it off its peg and it won’t budge. I twist, and half the alarm dangles into my hand.
It’s WIRED IN.
Of course it is. He was an electrician. Soooooo why does it even need batteries???? It’s literally wired into the electricity of the house.
I push back the battery cover. Two AA Duracells await me. I ask them what their purpose in life is.
They deign not to answer.
I sigh and pry them out. This takes the force of a knife. I expect the beep and voice to shut up now that I have removed the problem.
Beep. “Low battery”.
I search for a switch or a button.
“Press to hush” reads the test button.
I press.
Oh, you know what happened.
The looooooong high pitched beep of the smoke detector has no rival. And I’m within a foot of it. May I remind you it’s 5:40 in the morning? I mash it again to cut it off, but it wasn’t finished with its little display of tricks. Three insistent chirps. “Carbon monoxide,” the voice stated now.
I wish something would kill me. I could kill my ex all over again.
The light was flashing red now, instead of serene green.
Ever the optimist, I thought maybe once it got through this, it would perform some sort of reset and realize it was wired in and would recognize the batteries were nonessential.
Ha.
“Low battery.”
“No, you ain’t got NO batteries, you stupid &%@!!!!” I screamed.
Chester retreated to the stairs.
And now the battery cover wouldn’t slide all the way back, so even if I did put batteries in it, I couldn’t get two in there.
I studied the wires.
I did not feel confident I wouldn’t electrocute myself, and it was too early in the day to go dying, and it was way too early to call any of my friends who might offer me a solution (=come bail me out). It is also Sunday, and while I knew I could call the fire department, it’s an ungodly time to do that to anybody, emergency services or not. Plus, its not their fault I’m stupid.

I thought of the episode of Friends where Phoebe is having a similar problem. But worse, she gets the “Hey Mickey” song in her head. Oh no, don’t do it….

All I knew to do was put fresh batteries in it. IF I could get the cover pushed all the way back again. I fiddled with it, I cajoled, I cussed. Finally, in a fit of rage, it submitted.
I sighed and climbed off my metal folding chair.
Fortunately, I had just bought a four pack of AA Duracells at Walmart Thursday. I needed them for my thermostat. Then yesterday I noticed my dining room clock was running slow. It only takes one.
My math ain’t good, but I know that leaves one.
So I robbed the new one out of the clock. I stomped back downstairs to the hateful beeping apparatus. I crammed the batteries in their new home.
“Low battery,” the bitch said.
I told her directly where to go, and which horse to take.
I reversed the batteries.
She wisely made no further remarks.
I forced the cover back.
Silence.
I twisted the apparatus back against its base.
All is quiet.
I climbed off my perch, squinty eyed and daring the white orb to say just one. More. Thing.

Thank God and Greyhound, I reckon I’ve got it remedied.

The last button I mashed was for coffee at 6:04.
I suppose I should be thankful the batteries lasted this long. It had to have been installed prior to 2018. But what a frustrating way to start my day.