One of the things I'm looking forward to the most about moving to a new apartment is the likelihood of getting my peaceful Sunday afternoons back. I haven't had them for a while. Most weeks it's the guy downstairs blasting his deluge of random music (I've heard both Reggae and ABBA) at wall-shaking volumes, but yesterday something else woke me from my attempt to catch up on sleep lost at Girls' Camp.
It was the (very loud and obnoxious) fire alarm.
"Oh, no" I moaned, as I slowly rolled out of bed. Scott checked the hallways but there was no sign of smoke, so we decided it was a punk kid pulling the alarm for fun. I called 911, explained the situation, and the volunteer fire department came out to turn it off. Unfortunately, the guy had broken the alarm when he'd pulled it, so it took the firemen 40 minutes to disable it. Stupid kid.
Prank alarm-pulling happens a lot in this complex (not a single person evacuated the building quickly, they only left after about 20 minutes when they couldn't take the noise anymore) - but then again so does arson. There has been a rash of fires recently, and the sign in my stairwell put up by management asking for information about the arsonist has been burned at the edges by a lighter. Someone thinks they're funny, apparently.
I don't.
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