I am the Idiot Who Called the Fire Department on Herself

Just before 2 p.m., I was gathering my things for a school pick-up run. Bag? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Mask? Check. 

Suddenly, multiple smoke alarms in my house started blaring simultaneously. I froze in fear. There was no explanation, there was only the ear-splitting screech of dire warnings in stereo. DANGER!

Like a thousand pigs squealing

Weird thoughts go through your head during a perceived crisis. My first panicked thought was our security alarm was going off, but 1.) I hadn't turned it on yet and 2.) I was the only one in the house, definitely not intruding. My second thought was I wasn't currently cooking, so it wasn't a burned dish smoking in the oven or a pot holder I accidentally set on fire like that one time in college. (PSA: Do not leave unattended pot holders on the stove, lest you turn on the wrong burner and they go up in flames.)  I frantically rushed around two floors and a basement while sniffing the air like a bloodhound, but I couldn't see or smell smoke. 

After maybe 30 or 60 seconds, the alarms stopped as suddenly as they had started. My brain was vibrating and my legs were bracing for evacuation, but I couldn't find the threat. If I waited any longer I was going to be late to pick up the kids and would have to muscle my way into the car lane. So I called my husband at work to let him know we may have a fire-alarm-tripping poltergeist, and I set off for school while practicing deep breaths.

We walked in the door of a completely intact and definitely-not-burning house more than an hour later. I assumed the earlier emergency warning was merely a freak occurrence. But within 20 minutes, multiple alarms went off again. SCREECHSCREECHSCREECH!! 

The kids ran in frenzied circles, hands covering sensitive ears. I tried yelling over the alarm that everything is okay, please calm down, but clearly it wasn't okay and I was less than calm. I ran from one ceiling-mounted smoke alarm to another, glaring up in confusion, trying to figure out what was going on. 

Just as I was ushering the kids out the back door and into the yard to prevent their ears from bleeding, there was mysterious silence again. The kind of silence that leaves your ears ringing and your nerves jangled. The kids came back in, dragging their feet warily. I walked around the exterior of the house doing recon, just in case some mulch had spontaneously combusted, but found nothing. I was beginning to feel very disturbed.

Definitely not on fire

My husband arrived home from work at 4, and I updated him on the smoke alarm situation. Without knowing what was making the alarms shriek, we didn't know how to make it stop or prevent it from happening again. We were powerless against these deafening electronic warnings, but also getting hungry. So I set about making meatloaf and crossed my fingers that the frustrating and frightening ordeal was over. 

But the alarms began blaring around 5:20 AND AGAIN at 5:30. SCREECHSCREECHSCREECHSCREECH!!! The 5-year-old and 7-year-old were near tears, and frankly so was I. Whatever this was seemed to be getting worse. 

We've lived in our home for three years, and another home for 11 years before that. Both were equipped with smoke alarms tied into our electric wiring as well as home security systems, but nothing like this had ever happened. Like most people, we've experienced the annoying late-night chirping of one smoke alarm when the battery got low -- but never a full-on alarm emergency, never both the upstairs and downstairs alarms at the same time. 

It was time for reinforcements.

Reluctantly I called the non-emergency number at the fire department and explained what was happening. They sent to our house three firemen in a full-size, gleaming engine complete with hoses and ladders. It was not the least bit inconspicuous. At least they were kind enough to knock on the front door rather than axe their way through. 

Yup, this happened.

The men checked our house thoroughly, all three floors, and determined...the batteries in the smoke detectors needed to be changed.

 Ablaze with embarrassment, I fetched some 9-volt batteries and stood next to a fully trained fireman as he climbed on my dinky aluminum step-stool and opened the battery compartment in the downstairs smoke alarm. Of course the alarm only took AA size. Mortified and defeated, I hung my head and brought him AA batteries instead. Twice -- because he changed the upstairs batteries too.

To their credit, all three firefighters were incredibly kind, repeatedly saying they'd rather change batteries than find my house on fire. I could only agree. I was also gently chastised for not changing the batteries often enough. While even the firemen couldn't explain why both alarms were blaring at full-blast because of low batteries, I was extremely grateful that they helped. 

I offered them some meatloaf in consolation for being called out to service my smoke alarms, but they politely declined and went on their way. I was humiliated by the entire situation.

Within an hour, multiple neighbors who saw the fire truck were sending us text messages to ask if everything was okay. We're fine, just dumb.