(no subject)
In true "the universe is against me" and "Diana can and will fuck up anything" mode, I managed to fail at my job of....house sitting. In an attempt to buff up my savings for Japan, I've been taking on a series of jobs generally left to twelve year olds - tutoring, babysitting, dogsitting, and the latest one, sitting in a mansion in Cedarhill (hottub in bedroom included), making sure I don't touch anything, and raking in retardedly large sums of money.
Simple? Yes...if I was you. Because the universe made the pretty lousy decision of making me me, I tucked in for a good night's sleep on the four poster bed a mere five hours after the homeowners had left for England. Suddenly realizing I needed to get up (for a reason I can't remember), I moved my hand to the night side table, trying to find the light switch. I hit something, and the next thing I knew I was in the middle of an air raid in England.
The loudest, most ridiculous alarm went off all around the house. For about ten seconds I wasn't sure if I had summoned Batman, if I had broken into the Louvre, or if the government was testing it's latest "this is Armageddon" warning system. Stumbling around in the dark, I bashed my knee into the dresser, before finding a lamp and turning it on.
From the outside it looked like a defenseless garage door opener, but from the label it was a panic button to what was obviously a very effective alarm system. The one the homeowners had explicitly told me they'd shut off. The one they hadn't left me the number to turn the stupid thing off. And with no way to reach them, as they were still 40,000 feet over the Atlantic somewhere.
Ring, ring. "I just wanted to let you know that your alarm is going off)" "(witty response I would have made if I could hear my own thoughts)I know, I hit a panic button by accident. You don't happen to have the code to deactivate it do you?" "NO. Turn if off, you've woken me, Miles, and the children, Beatrice and Winifred up."
Ring, ring. "Hello? This is the security company. Are you dead? Are you okay?" "Yes, I'm fine, how does one go about saving what's left of their inner ear turning system off?" "Please give me the activation code." "I'm house sitting, I don't have
it." "(Silence) ("Silence) We'll get back to you."
Knock, knock. "Hello? This is the police. Your alarm is going off, are you okay?" "I'm fine, but I'm house sitting and I don't have the code to turn if off." "Ah, how terrible, but please let me in so I can assess whether you are a criminal or not." "Okay."
What followed was twenty minutes of convincing officer not-so-bright that I wasn't a murderous felon (because all murderous felons wear pink pyjamas and have their suitcase in the hallway), followed by a ten minute explanation of panic buttons and when I should and shouldn't push them. After half an hour the alarm finally went off. I still don't know how. What a fun night!
Knoc
Knock, knock. "Hello, this is the police.
Simple? Yes...if I was you. Because the universe made the pretty lousy decision of making me me, I tucked in for a good night's sleep on the four poster bed a mere five hours after the homeowners had left for England. Suddenly realizing I needed to get up (for a reason I can't remember), I moved my hand to the night side table, trying to find the light switch. I hit something, and the next thing I knew I was in the middle of an air raid in England.
The loudest, most ridiculous alarm went off all around the house. For about ten seconds I wasn't sure if I had summoned Batman, if I had broken into the Louvre, or if the government was testing it's latest "this is Armageddon" warning system. Stumbling around in the dark, I bashed my knee into the dresser, before finding a lamp and turning it on.
From the outside it looked like a defenseless garage door opener, but from the label it was a panic button to what was obviously a very effective alarm system. The one the homeowners had explicitly told me they'd shut off. The one they hadn't left me the number to turn the stupid thing off. And with no way to reach them, as they were still 40,000 feet over the Atlantic somewhere.
Ring, ring. "I just wanted to let you know that your alarm is going off)" "(witty response I would have made if I could hear my own thoughts)I know, I hit a panic button by accident. You don't happen to have the code to deactivate it do you?" "NO. Turn if off, you've woken me, Miles, and the children, Beatrice and Winifred up."
Ring, ring. "Hello? This is the security company. Are you dead? Are you okay?" "Yes, I'm fine, how does one go about saving what's left of their inner ear turning system off?" "Please give me the activation code." "I'm house sitting, I don't have
it." "(Silence) ("Silence) We'll get back to you."
Knock, knock. "Hello? This is the police. Your alarm is going off, are you okay?" "I'm fine, but I'm house sitting and I don't have the code to turn if off." "Ah, how terrible, but please let me in so I can assess whether you are a criminal or not." "Okay."
What followed was twenty minutes of convincing officer not-so-bright that I wasn't a murderous felon (because all murderous felons wear pink pyjamas and have their suitcase in the hallway), followed by a ten minute explanation of panic buttons and when I should and shouldn't push them. After half an hour the alarm finally went off. I still don't know how. What a fun night!
Knoc
Knock, knock. "Hello, this is the police.