Living in a small town

Let me give you a little example of what it's like to live in a very small town.

My teenage daughter and I got home from a church function one evening recently. I began washing dishes while she jumped in the shower. Suddenly the carbon monoxide detector in our kitchen started emitting a piercing sound. The detector was here when we moved in, and it had never gone off before. I had no idea what to do. I checked the gas stove. Everything was off. I pressed the reset button on the detector. It continued to sound. I flipped over the detector and read: “What to do if the alarm goes off.” Ahhh…now THAT’s helpful! “Step One: Press the reset button.” Already did that. Alarm still beeping. “Step Two: Open a window.” I opened the nearest window. Alarm still beeping. “Step Three: Call 911 or the local fire department.” Really?? Call 911?? As if it was a REAL emergency?? I couldn't bring myself to do that. I tried the fire department. When they answered, I apologetically explained that my carbon monoxide detector was sounding the alarm and I didn't know what to do. He told me to close the window so they could accurately measure the gas levels in the house, then get everyone out. He said they’d send someone over with a gas meter. I was about to ask if I could finish washing the dishes first. After all, I didn’t really want people walking through my house when I had dirty dishes in the sink! Unfortunately, my teenage daughter was beginning to panic, thinking our house was about to explode. She yelled at me to grab my cell phone and get out! Okay, I straightened up a couple little things on the way out the door – maybe fluffed the sofa cushions while putting on my shoes. We don’t get that much company! We went outside and sat in the car. Almost instantly, a car with a flashing light on the dashboard appeared at the end of our driveway. In the car was one of my neighbors from a few doors down, apparently a volunteer fireman. (Who knew?) He didn’t have a meter, so he just waited with me until someone with the proper equipment could arrive. Next, a fire truck and two more cars with flashing lights on the dashboard arrived. Now I had a fire truck, three cars with flashing lights and about seven firemen at the end of my driveway. I was starting to get embarrassed. One of the guys came over and asked me some questions about my furnace and my stove. Being completely clueless – they were here when I bought the house – I was of no help. He started up a meter and he and another guy went into the house, telling me to hang tight out there with the rest of the folks. My neighbor told me that the guy testing my house was the town’s fire marshal. Just then, another fire truck pulled out and several guys dressed in full gear jumped out, running toward my driveway. I said to my neighbor, “Do they KNOW it’s not a fire??” He said, “It’s a volunteer fire department. We don’t have a lot to do. When a call comes in, everyone wants to go.” Then a police car pulled up, lights flashing. The policeman was apparently also the fire chief. My beeping alarm had brought out the fire chief and the fire marshal! I now had close to a dozen people hanging around my front yard, along with two full-sized fire trucks, three cars with flashing lights on the dash, and a police car. I live on a narrow dirt road. This gathering of emergency vehicles had essentially closed down my end of the street.
Turns out those carbon monoxide sensors are only good for about 3 years. Since mine was here when I bought the house a year and a half ago, it had probably hit its three year life expectancy. No gas in the house, just a faulty detector. The top echelons of the local fire department – along with what must have been 75-80% of their staff – all raced to my rescue...for a false alarm! But gee…didn’t I feel important!!