I’m not sure what day it is. All I know is that the fun and games that made this Simcoe Day weekend memorable, began on Saturday morning.

Our lovely cleaning lady was ‘refreshing’ the kitchen. We both hear a ticking sound that we thought was water dripping through the pipes leading from the master ensuite bathroom. We bopped upstairs and did a sweep of all the bathroom fixtures. Nothing was on. After some muttering and searching, I stood beside the origin of the sound and looked up at the glass breakage sensor that’s attached to our security system. Wouldn’t you know it? The damn thing was ticking. Fast. Like someone had tripped a detonator wire on a package of explosives.

 

And there I was, blithely standing about eight inches away, poking at it with my finger, wriggling the unit away from the wall. It was securley attached to its sister unit in the other room. I called the help desk (welcome, yada, yada, press, 1, press 2, press 5) and explained our problem.

The earnest technician kept saying, “but the device is a receiver, it can’t make any noise.”

“Hold on a moment.” I held the portable phone handset against the source of the beeping. “You hear that? It is possible, my man.” Yes, I called him ‘my man’ because although I’d been out in the garden trimming the flower beds, I was still feeling jaunty and not too sweaty and mosquito bitten.

I asked Larry if he could see an error message on his monitoring panel. He could not, which was also interesting. He put me on hold for four minutes.”I tried to call the manufacturer but there’s no answer.”

Of course not, it was Saturday on a long weekend. His advice was to try to muffle the sound which, despite being repetitive and not too loud, was extremely annoying, since it was in the family room where we spend much of our time. I cut a wad of winter coat insulation and although Hub tried to create a ‘quiet box’, the stupid thing was still clearly audible. I sent Hub for the toolbox and called back.

“Larry, my man. The sound is driving me bonkers. I’m want to disable it.” I could hear him hyperventilating.

“Don’t do that, don’t do that. It’s connected to the one in the kitchen.” Yeah, but your records show the wrong location number for that device, too.

“Then how do I turn it off? It looks like the receiver thingy pops out.  Or maybe I’ll take out the circuit board.”

“Wait.” He must have had visions of a madwoman perched on a kitchen stool with a screwdriver in her hand. Larry put me on hold and came back in about forty-five seconds. “Okay, take off the cover. Look at the top right side of the box. See those four wires?”

“Sure.”

“Very carefully, loosen the screw holding the wires in place and…” Geez, this wasn’t Mission Impossible. I yanked out the red wire. Mercifully, the noise stopped. “Go get some electrical wire and enclose the loose wire just in case so it doesn’t start a fire.”

Gadzooks. There wasn’t enough power in the thing to give me even a mild zap when I touched it. Larry gave us an incident number and booked a technician to arrive on – Thursday.

I said, “It’s a good thing nothing was seriously wrong.”

But I spoke too soon.