A few days ago, my friends Nicole and Tim gave me a ride home from work, but they needed to stop at the store for some ingredients in the icebox cookies she was going to make. Since they wandered down the frozen foods aisle, I picked up a pizza thing for dinner. Then we spotted the Disney pizzas. One was shaped like Mickey Mouse. Tim convinced me to get it.
Until today I had never tried using our gas oven, afraid of pulling a Sylvia Plath. I put the pizza in it and was rewarded by seeing the blue flames at the bottom of the thing. (Google assured me this was normal, as I cannot describe it accurately). So I let the pizza cook for abut eight of the fifteen minutes as recommended by the box. At the eight minute mark, the smoke alarm goes off.
First instinct was to check the oven. Pizza was cooking along normally, nothing wrong. So I did my Standard Operating Procedure in these situations: Open up the kitchen door to the outside, and yell at the Alarm.
This time the technique failed, and it continued to go off. Still frightened by the powers of the gas oven, I turned it off. It did not help. So I turned off the kitchen light and tried to find the smoke alarm. Side note: I did not know where the alarm was, let alone that we had one til I set it off one night. I did not find the source of the noise until today. I stood up on a chair and surveyed the kitchen and finally found the goddamned thing on top of a shelf. I wrenched the battery out of it and it shut the fuck up.
I then ate my delicious delicious pizza and declared victory over the smoke detector. After I finished making dinner tonight I put the battery back in the smoke detector, but now I know thine enemy.
(I know Candice and Ash will appreciate this: when I was yelling at the smoke alarm, I thought of the infamous "SHUT UP, STOVE, THE OVEN'S ON FIRE!")
Current music: Dropkick Murphys - Boys on the Docks