The weather this weekend was gorgeous, so I spent most of it outside and near the water—enjoying a cookout in a quarry on Saturday night and a kayak ride down the Catawba on Sunday.
But, as one does on weekends when they’re old, I also had a bunch of chores—including hanging a painting in one of my new offices. This particular office is in a kind of random location north of town surrounded by warehouses and distribution centers. It doesn’t feel like the safest place to go alone, but I also don’t want to be the annoying person carting in stuff and banging on walls on the weekday. So, off I went on Saturday morning, painting in hand.
I made it in past the barbed wire fence, walked the 200 yards or so from the parking lot to the entrance, swiped my card, opened the door, and promptly heard the shrill beeping of an alarm about to go off.
Somehow, in the eight billion questions I’ve been asking everyone at my new job lately, it had never occurred to me to ask if we had an alarm.
Lest you wonder if I kept my cool and reacted like a normal human being in this situation, let me assure you I did not. I sprinted through the building in the dark to my office with the painting, hammer, and nails and dropped them in the middle of the hall. I don’t know why. Then I ran back to the alarm, where I noticed a note to call the office’s director if you somehow accidentally set off the alarm.
So, I sprinted out of the building and back to my car to get my phone to text him. He kindly told me that he’d let the alarm company know not to dispatch the police and then gave me a code to disarm the alarm.
Of course, in my pure panic (I seriously envisioned a SWAT team entering the building and catching me in the act of hanging my painting), I’d dropped by key card with the hammer and nails. I couldn’t get back into the building.
So, as the alarm wailed, I called the director and started the call with “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but…” Because he’s a nice human, he assured me that it was ok and he took care of it. So much for all my good first impressions.
I used to imagine that I’d reach an age and stage when I wouldn’t have to start sentences with “You’re going to think I’m crazy.” But I’m starting to think that’s just not in the cards for me. Oh well. Saturday was just a little more thrilling than I’d anticipated.