After living in our apartment for the last six months, on painful and slightly disturbing reality has become evidently clear. We buy into the public service announcement rhetoric, but in our case the warnings turn out to be nothing but smoke and mirrors. Deception spawned by a simple undeniable fact: Our smoke detector hates us.
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Boil water? It goes off. Turn on the range. It goes off. Say the word “cook” in a voice louder than a whisper. beeep-beeep-beeep-beeep…
It’s gotten so bad that we have a fan just sitting next to the kitchen plugged in pointing at the detector. If you turn on the range, you might as well turn on the fan to create a wind-tunnel through which nothing resembling smoke can pass.
Strike a match to light a candle. Silence.
Run out of matches so light an 8.5×11 piece of paper on the stove, carry it across the room, light the candle and blow the paper out filling the room with smoke. Nothing.
Start a fire in the fireplace without knowing if the flue is open (it’s not) causing the entire apartment to smell like smoke for two days…
It would be easy to just take the battery out, right. But then if there’s ever a fire we wouldn’t have anyone to blame as the building collapses around us. And I want that righteous satisfaction right before I die.