Cranky and Deaf

So we had an alarm system installed over the weekend. One of the control panels is located right outside the bed chambers. Coincidentally, so is the alarm’s horn

A bleary eyed, slow shuffling head of the Royal Household, clad only in boxers and a t-shirt, attempted to set the alarm to allow him to walk about his castle early, early Sunday morning whilst the queen and crown prince slept in. See the King is wise. He knew that he could sneak down, get the coffee going, slink back in bed and snuggle with the queen for about 30 more minutes before having to get back up. Weekends were made for such finer things, would you not agree? Needing two things to execute his plan to perfection, a bathroom and the coffee maker, the King punched in the appropriate code and set off down the stairs.

Behold, I say unto you, the wrath of the Security Gods came upon the King by the third step unleashing an auditory fury the likes of which have never been experienced before. Not 1.2 seconds later, the crown prince, in a panic, unleashed his own fury matching the wails of the horn note for note and decibel for decibel. Shortly after that, perhaps, as time and relativity were no longer working together as brains and senses were being crushed under the weight of the ear bleeding wall of sound, the queen emerged from her slumber, disheveled and angry, much like a furry grizzly woken early from hibernation. With hands over her ears, and already stamping her feet, her sweet loving voice could be heard above the cacophony tenderly urging the King to quote “turn that _____ thing off!” Ahh, soft and sweet as the coo of the morning dove.

With no glasses on, and sleep still heavy in the eyes, the King stumbled up the stairs, yes up the stairs, making his way to the control panel. Attempting to appease the angry Gods, the King’s hands flew over the key board. Pleased with the many bleeps, bleets and beeps being heard, the King knew the displeasure of the Gods would soon be redirected and peace would be restored. Yet, there was no relief from the horrendous shrill accosting him. The alarm was obnoxious too. The King soon realized that in his haste and haze he was entering his junior high locker combination, his first telephone number back when he still had a party line, hello Martha-Jean, you can click off now, the pin number to a bank account long since closed, and his social security number for good measure. With much wailing and moaning and gnashing of teeth from the crown prince, and with the seething, perturbed grizzly approaching with claws at the ready, the King finally remember the right key combination and entered it just in the nick of time.

Calm descended upon the castle. Sort of. No bloody siren call, but where once could be heard the steady breathing of peaceful dreamy sleep, now there was the hyperventilating spasms of child like cries from the Royal Family. Deep breathing, trying to squelch the affects of the adrenaline dump into his system, the King’s vision began to clear just as the downstairs phone rang. Running to catch it, reaching it just in time, the King heard a bubbly teenager happily state “Hello this is Brinks Security. There’s been an alarm tripped sir. May I have your name and code word please.” Let’s see, the code word. Hearing aides, perhaps. No. Um, Cochlear implants then. No again. Could it be soiled undergarments? No. At last the King remembered the code word only to hear. “So, is everything OK sir?”

Summoning his most gallant, stately voice, the King regally replied, “Madame, I’ve somehow managed to bang my knee so hard that tomorrow I’ll require surgery. My inner ears are now a pulpy mess of blood soaked goo. Moreover, the crown prince screams like a little girl, the Queen cusses like a sailor on leave, and I have to go to the bathroom so bad my bladder is sagging into the floor of my pelvis….and, by the hammer of Thor and for the love of all things holy, I’ve missed my snuggle time! So, no, dear child, everything is most definitely not alright.