The first time I did it, I was eighteen or nineteen. And it
really wasn’t my fault. They didn’t give me the code. I think the plan was not
to set the alarm, but a habit is a habit. And setting one’s house alarm in the
neighborhood they lived in was certainly not a bad habit. And if nothing else,
they proved that the local police take such alarms seriously. I should know.
I’m the one that had to talk them out of arresting me.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t that serious. (Or maybe it was. I don’t
know. As I said, I was only eighteen or nineteen and already panicked enough
that I had set off the alarm thus alerting the police to begin with.) I had a
very regular babysitting job with a family at our church. That particular day,
the mom was off at some all-day learning conference about medical
something-or-other that would allow her to help more at the office of her
doctor-husband (who was at work). The eldest child would be dropped off later
by friends who were picking her up after school. It was my task to pick up the
one-year-old at mom’s day out and take him home. Which I did. But once I
managed to juggle the wiggling little boy and his bag enough to fish out the
key I had been given and unlock the front door, that proved to be less simple
than I thought. For the alarm went off. An alarm I didn’t have to passcode to.
Nor did I know the password. Nor did I know how to get in touch with anyone who
did.
I knew the series of events. So, I answered the call from
the security company. Of course I was not convincing in my explanation, so I
knew the next step was the arrival of the police. I tried to call the doctor,
but the scratchpads near the phone were covered with numbers and I didn’t know
what practice he worked for in town. This was before cell phones were carried
by everyone and their cousins four times removed, so she didn’t have one of
those. Although I called my mom, she certainly couldn’t help. Meanwhile, I got
the car seat and stuff out of my car so I wouldn’t forget that and the little
boy was happily wandering about the house completely ignorant of the alarm
(that finally shut down) or my panic. Then the police did arrive. I doubt my
attempt at charisma convinced them of my innocence. It was more likely my
presence in spite of the alarm and the one-year-old happily playing in the
living room. Anyhow, I wasn’t arrested. And, now nearly 20 years later, it’s a
rather funny story to share.
Last week I guess I decided on an encore. Of course it
doesn’t help when the passcode is changed and you didn’t get the memo. I’m only
working on days Ed is off and as July 4th was the only day he had
off last week, I decided to go in for a few hours of work. Personally, I rather
like working on holidays. No e-mails, no phone calls, a quiet office and free
parking on the street right in front of the building. It had been a while since
I worked the security system and I was more concerned about pushing the buttons
in the right order. Which apparently I didn’t. Because the alarm went off and
there was nothing I could do to stop it. I called my boss just to let him know,
but he didn’t pick up. So, I turned on my computer and unpacked my backpack
while I waited for the police to arrive. The alarm did finally shut down just
as a very friendly Pittsburgh officer knocked on the front door and waved. She
asked if I knew the alarm had gone off (rather obviously) and if I was okay. I
told her I thought I had done it right, but I guess I hadn’t and I had already
called John to let him know. Then she asked if the office was open on a holiday
and I said it wasn’t, but I was very happily getting some work done in quiet.
She laughed and agreed that wasn’t a bad idea before wishing me a happy 4th
and walking off. About ten minutes later, John called me back and explained the
passcode had been changed. I was glad it wasn’t me hitting the wrong buttons
and successfully reset the alarm when I left.
Moral of the stories? Make sure you have the right passcode.
And an honest story to tell the police if you don’t.
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