My life is about saving yours, period. And I really don’t have any other function. I’m not into looks or Kanye or the Kardashians. But feel free to leave that on the TV; I’m already following the Kanye 2020 campaign.
Me and my homies hang out at your place, usually out of sight, out of mind. But isn’t that what you want in a smoke alarm? That unblinking, sentry-like green eye that says, ‘Rest easy, broseph, we got this.’
We smoke alarms exude a quiet confidence not found in other small household appliances. Toasters – you know you’re always watching ‘em. Microwaves – always making some kind of mess, and who’s cleaning up after ‘em? You!
And while we don’t have a lot of diversity in our ranks (our brothers and sisters the carbon monoxide detectors at least get a rectangular, geometric break), our color means we’re living that purposeful life. We’re white so you can tell if we’ve been too hot, been in a fire, or just plain getting on in years. In fact, by the time we’re 10 years old, we aren’t quite as pretty and not what we used to be. When we hit the ‘Big One Oh,’ go ahead and send us off to that Great Junk Drawer in the Sky. You know what I’m saying, you’ve probably got one of us in there with a screwdriver, an old 30-pin iPod cord and baggy of nuts and bolts from last year’s IKEA project.
This I’ll grant you, we can be occasionally annoying, occasionally. Our constant beeping when you decide to go all Emeril Lagasse for your new Bae, it’ll drive you crazy. You might think we get some kind of sick pleasure from this, we don’t. But like every divorced dad out there says on Saturday night to junior and little Chloe, tell that cutie our beeps mean dinner’s ready.
So to review, you get 10 years of us doing you a solid, protecting you in your most vulnerable, crashed-out state. We don’t sleep, we don’t Netflix and chill. We’re on your six, 24-7.
And what do we ask for all this maintenance-free work? Only that you throw a new 9-volt our way every once in a while. Ya’ll will be springin’ forward this Sunday, giving you a casual reason to be an hour late to work come Monday morning. We’d say an hour’s more sleep is worth a couple of new batteries.
Tony Brohim, smoke alarmin' and charmin'