Bad Batteries = Life Lesson

By Beth Boswell Jacks- Snippets

May 08, 2008 10:06 am

— There were hours, days, weeks, months of torment. I truly did not see how I could survive. I wrestled with the demonic noise in my head, jumping as if shot with jolts of electricity during the day, thrashing the bedcovers at night, endlessly walking the floor when I couldn’t sleep, weeping to the heavens to rescue me . . .
Well, it wasn’t that bad, but it was bad; actually, this was just another of life’s little lessons.
The battery was low in one of our smoke detectors, and the incessant chirping was driving me bonkers. The thing had been installed at the tippy top of the stairwell wall next to the ceiling, and there was no way hubby G-Man and I could figure to replace the battery without scaffolding.
I endured the chirping for a day or so, begging G-Man to do something, but he couldn’t hear it. That high-pitched beep is in a decibel range he silenced long ago due to shooting thousands of ducks. He wasn’t in a hurry to solve the problem.
Finally, I prevailed. G-man went to the storeroom and came back with a shovel - the longest, filthiest object out there. Standing on his tip-toes on the stairs, he lunged and whacked at the smoke detector for ten solid minutes. Alas, his efforts were in vain; he only pocked and dirtied the wall . . . and the chirping continued.
I then straightened a clothes hanger and tried to hook it to the detector by standing in the upstairs hall and leaning over the banister. Nix. The alarm wouldn’t budge. I had a vision of my body flipping over the rail, but gave up reluctantly - I thought the clothes hanger held promise.
For the next two nights I closed the bedroom door and buried my head in a pillow, thinking the battery would eventually die dead away and the beeping would stop . . . and we’d have a permanent round plastic case with a dead 9-volt battery on the wall over the staircase. Real nice.
Also, to make matters worse, poochie Pharaoh was terrified and wouldn’t go near the chirping. I suppose he thought a ferocious chicken had holed up in the wall. My big, brave dog literally cowered when he crept by the stairway. It was sad.
Frustration from the torturous noise consumed me, and I complained bitterly.
A kind friend asked why I didn’t get a ladder. Balancing a ladder on stairs is not healthy for the likes of G-Man and me. Another friend suggested pounding the smoke detector with a broom handle, fustigating the case with mighty blows, but that might have released toxic poisons into our home, and I‚m not big on poison. Another suggested shooting the detector down with a .410, but I don’t even know what a .410 is (and I was scared G-Man might try it).
The best suggestions were to call a carpenter, a painter, or an electrician - folks who know how to balance ladders on stairs. That’s what I decided to do, but ta da! I didn’t have to.
Son Tom came over and went the straightened clothes hanger route again. After a dozen tries, he succeeded, hooking the battery across the expanse of stairway and jerking it right out of the socket.
The battery went plunging and fell smack into a light fixture, which thankfully didn’t break. We fished the battery out of the light fixture, disposed of it, and now all is quiet and peaceful once more.
William Faulkner once said that “people need trouble - a little frustration to sharpen the spirit, toughen it . . .”
Pharaoh and I would agree that nothing can possibly sharpen and toughen spirits any better than a squawking, slow dying smoke detector battery - a botheration surpassing all botherations.
So that’s that. I bought a new smoke detector, which has been installed (yes!) considerably lower than “clothes hanger reach.”
You’re wondering who put the smoke detector up there in the stratosphere in the first place, aren’t you? Me, too. Whoever it is, I’d like to bop him over the head with G-Man’s shovel - just another of life’s little lessons.
[Beth Jacks is an author, freelance columnist, and editor of usadeepsouth.com. She loves Texas and visits often from her home base in Mississippi. Write her at bethjacks@hotmail.com]