“Your security alarm was going off.”
“Oh, I didn’t think it was activated.”
“Yes, officer. Thank you. Everything is fine. The power went out.”
“Have a good night.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
It was midnight when the power came back on. Josh had gone to work. I turned off the lights and went back to sleep. When I woke up this morning, I let the dog out the back door, and it tripped the security alarm again. I hadn’t had my morning coffee. I don’t know who was shouting louder, me or the security alarm. That’s when the cop showed up again. I answered the door in my jammies.
“Good morning, Sir. Everything is fine. I just can’t seem to deactivate the alarm. I’ll call the security company right away.”
“Oopsie.” He said that because while I was explaining how I would call the security company, Marlowe ran out the front door. Never enough dog drama in this house, after all.
“Son of a bitch.” I really said that in front of the cop. (If Josh had been there, he would have said, “Literally.” But I would not have laughed.) I explained to the cop, “I mean the dog.”
“I know. Have a nice day.”
I knew I wouldn’t be having a nice day.
When I called the security company, they explained to me that I needed a password in order for them to help me. Since I’m a renter and not the person who set up the account, I explained I didn’t have it.
“I can’t help you until you have the password.”
“That’s super-awesome. Thanks.”
When I called the rental agency and got the password, I called back.
“Oh,” said the customer service lady. “Your account is delinquent by two months.”
“I didn’t know the alarms were active.”
“Yes. Thank you. Please put the balance on my card.”
“Great. Now, how can I help you?”
“I need the code to deactivate the alarms.”
I hate safety.