(no subject)
Things never work out the way you want them to. This was made quite clear to me after coming back home yesterday evening to stumble over to my neighbor's house in order to walk and feed their terrier. He's such a feisty little guy, always happy to see me and tell me about the adventures he had partook in that day. I knew it was somewhat late for such an endeavor, but it had to be done nonetheless. Fast forward to me frantically punching in the security system disarm code for the billionth time, while the alarm grew louder and more obnoxious every 10 seconds. Images of angry neighborhood-watch centaurs race through my mind as I desperately try to fathom a way to get around the shortcomings of the aging and obsolete piece of homeowner technology staring me in the face.
A minute later, I abandon all hope of pursuing a panicky anxious existence and make my way to the living room, stopping at the bar halfway to make myself a "Well, hello officers!-cocktail". I light a nice fire, settle in a big comfy love seat and blaze a jane while I thumb through the latest issue of Harper's. Fifteen minutes later, Bel Air Patrol finally arrives. I explain what happened, and he's more than familiar with the incoherent security pad I was faced with and told me it would need to be reset. He also recorded my name. That's right, after fifteen minutes of possible rape and pillaging, the security company finally arrives, apologizes for the antiquated keypad, and jots down my most guarded personal identifier: my name. I could have been anyone/ taken off with all of the houses' valuables in that time. Nevertheless, those Brink's commercials with all the 1s and 0s zooming around the house protecting children from scary hobgoblins in the bushes and carbon monoxide, have never failed to be cool in my mind.
A minute later, I abandon all hope of pursuing a panicky anxious existence and make my way to the living room, stopping at the bar halfway to make myself a "Well, hello officers!-cocktail". I light a nice fire, settle in a big comfy love seat and blaze a jane while I thumb through the latest issue of Harper's. Fifteen minutes later, Bel Air Patrol finally arrives. I explain what happened, and he's more than familiar with the incoherent security pad I was faced with and told me it would need to be reset. He also recorded my name. That's right, after fifteen minutes of possible rape and pillaging, the security company finally arrives, apologizes for the antiquated keypad, and jots down my most guarded personal identifier: my name. I could have been anyone/ taken off with all of the houses' valuables in that time. Nevertheless, those Brink's commercials with all the 1s and 0s zooming around the house protecting children from scary hobgoblins in the bushes and carbon monoxide, have never failed to be cool in my mind.