Why I Hate Alarms

A few months ago Jon and I were watching our friends' house while they were out of town. Usually Jon checked on things, so I didn't pay much attention to how to set the alarm. Well, one day it fell to me to go by myself. Jon relayed to me how to turn the alarm off when I got inside. It sounded easy. I did what I thought he told me to do. And then the alarm went off. I don't mean it turned off...I mean it WENT OFF. As in the loudest noise I could imagine blaring through the house. I frantically started pressing buttons and couldn't figure out how to shut it off. My heart raced, my palms began to sweat. I realized then and there that I am not the person you want with you in an emergency. I tried to call Jon, but it was like so many nightmares I've had where I press the phone buttons, but they don't work. Finally, I figured it out and got it turned off. And then the police called. I hate alarms.

Today I had to go to the church. We rent the building on Sunday nights from the congregation who owns it. I got the key from our pastor and he told me the security code to punch into the key pad to turn off and set the alarm. I unlocked the door, believing no one was there. I was ready to punch in the code. I turned to the wall where I believed the key pad was. Instead there was this large box with a long handle. hmmm. The key pad must be behind it. Of course, knowing my hate for alarms, I wasn't thinking clearly. I felt rushed. I had to punch this code in, stat! So, I grabbed the handle and turned it. The box didn't open. But someone did scream. Odd. I turned. On the next wall, not 3 feet from the box, was the key pad. It registered in my mind at about the same time it registered that someone had screamed. "Hello?" I called. Out came the secretary, saying that the power had just gone out. Hmmm. Could it be because I just turned the handle on the large box on the wall? Yes. Yes, that is exactly what happened. I cut the power to the church. I hate alarms.