THERE'S A SHERIFF IN TOWN

Children have security blankets, business owners have security cameras and drug dealers have security attack dogs.  Having outgrown childhood, and not being a business owner or drug dealer, I opted for a home alarm system.

 Other than the few times I opened my patio door (without turning off the alarm) at 5:00 in the morning, my security system has served me well. At the times, I have mistakenly set off my alarm, I am comforted by the thought that all of my neighbors know it’s time to wake up, but I find it strange that they don’t come out to check if a robber is driving off with me or my furniture.

One time, a new neighbor did run over to see if I was okay. It gave me pause when he said, “Next time I’ll make sure you are okay by bringing my gun.” I don’t know if he intended to shoot an intruder or me, so I’ve been exceedingly careful ever since, and have put a reminder on the inside of my patio door that says, “Alarm.”

On the few times that I have accidentally tripped the alarm, a man from the Home Security Company calls and says, “Are you okay, or are you just plain stupid?” Then I have to give my code words; “I’m a nincompoop,” and that seems to satisfy him.

So, everything has been copacetic until last weekend when my alarm and I had a great adventure.  My friend and neighbor, Barbara called me at 7:45 in the evening and said, “My granddaughter is visiting from out-of-town, and we want to walk over, so she can meet you, and we can walk off our big Mexican dinner.” I said, “Oh, La, La, (which is more French than Spanish) I just stepped out of the shower and am in my pajamas and robe. Give me a few minutes to get my act together.”  She said, “Don’t get dressed. It’s just us girls.” So, I took two minutes to straighten up the living room and turn off the alarm. The first time I pressed the code, it didn’t disarm, so I entered the code again, and it worked.

My friends arrived, sat down and we began to chat. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and through the front door peephole, I saw two sheriffs, with big guns, standing there. I opened the door and said, “Hi, what can I do for you?” And, one of them said, “Your silent alarm went off.  Are you okay?” “What’s a silent alarm?” I asked. “It’s a panic button,” replied the bigger sheriff. “Please step outside. So, in my pajamas, robe and slippers, I stepped outside.

“Why am I out here?” I asked. “We want to be sure that no one is holding a gun to your head,” replied the other sheriff. “Please show me some identification.” I looked down at my bunny slippers and replied, “I don’t carry my driver’s license in my pajamas. Come on in and I’ll get it for you.” They stepped inside, I got the identification, introduced them to my friends, and they left satisfied that no one was in any danger other than overindulging in Mexican food.

Shortly afterwards, my friends also left. Finally, at 9:30 in the evening, I decided to go to bed and read for a while, but before I made it to the bedroom, my doorbell rang again.  Once more, I looked though the peephole, and saw a uniformed security guard. This time, I carefully disarmed my alarm, and opened the door. “Now what?” I said.  “I’m just checking to see if the Sheriff’s Department responded to your panic call.” I assured him that I was just fine, and he left.

I put on some lipstick and stayed up for two more hours waiting for the Canadian Mounted Police, but regret to report that they never showed up.

Esther Blumenfeld