Answering the siren call of the home burglar alarm
by Beth Teitell

Tuesday, August 14, 2001

Which is worse - the burglar, or the burglar alarm?

WHAT??? I can't hear you. There's a loud ringing in my ears.

I know what you're thinking: What's a little hearing loss in the higher ranges compared with the comfort that comes from knowing your home is guarded by a state-of-the-art hood-deterrent system?

If only that were true. Yes, an alarm lives in our home, but, without going into details or pointing fingers, I'll just say that when we moved in last year we chose not to take custody of the system from the sellers. And they, having no interest in paying a monthly fee to protect us from those who would steal our worldly goods, canceled the contract. Or thought they did, except that the company claims to have no record of such a request.

For the past 11 months, my family has coexisted peacefully with the beast. We ignored the ominous flashing lights on its number pad, and it ignored our habit of opening not only the windows, but both the front and back doors.

Life wasn't perfect - the tension was always there - but it worked.

Until last Monday, that is, when a certain 1-year-old, who was being held too close to the number pad, reached out, said ``Guh,'' and, with the same talent he showed for reprogramming the ring on my cell phone and disabling the home computer, detonated our little friend:

``WHAHH WHOOO WHAHH WHOO (etc.)''

The hacker and I fled the apartment to the safety of the stoop, where we spent the next three hours (using up valuable peak cell phone minutes, I might add) trying to get the monitoring company to turn off the alarm - even though I did Not Know the Password, and the previous owner, who was reached after an hour or so, had forgotten it.

If I'd had my wits about me when I spoke to the guy, I would have used a memory-prompting system like the Internet sites do. ``What's your cat's name?'' I should have asked. ``Birthdays of loved ones?'' ``Alma mater? Favorite food? Lucky weight?''

Time passed, although not quickly, and a few hours and many conversations later, a woman named Molly finally took pity on me. ``You better be six months pregnant and standing outside in the heat holding a 1-year-old,'' were her exact words.

So even though it meant she was Breaking Federal Law, Molly walked me through the process of unplugging the alarm, which was not as obvious as one might think.

A week has passed since the incident. The siren's gone, and my hearing's almost back, but the shame lingers.

``How's it going?'' the guy across the courtyard asked the other day, smirking.

There's something embarrassing about being the owner of an out-of-control alarm. It's like being the adult attached to the arm of a child throwing a tantrum, but worse.

How do you make an excuse for an inanimate object that has gone animate? ``It's teething'' sounds crazy. ``Needs a nap'' can't be invoked either.

``There's enough stress in life,'' said a woman who managed to deactivate the alarm that came with her home. ``You have seven seconds to punch in a code and shut the door, or maybe it's the other way around, I can't remember which. It's easier to just build a moat.''

This morning, our apartment's former owner called to tell me he had canceled the contract - again. Only this time, he said, the company charged him a $30 fee.

Thirty bucks? I thought the alarm was supposed to protect you from criminals.