The Fire Inspector

Sounds like another children's book...or a Cinemax flick. Knock on the door today...landlord...with the FIRE INSPECTOR. Um, what? OK. I ask as few questions as possible, acting like "oh, of COURSE, I expect your monthly visit"...when I have NEVER had a fire inspector come to the door in my LIFE! WHAT the fuck?! I mean, I think of that type of thing in large apt. buildings, or offices, or schools...where they just check the hallways, escape routes, etc. -- but a private 3 floor residence?!?! Again...WHAT the fuck?! So I failed miserably -- I think not having bars on the windows was the only thing RIGHT about my apartment. I suppressed a raucous gaffaw as the inspector, my landlord, and myself all stared up at the fire alarm in my bedroom -- open, with the battery wires dangling SANS battery...as it's been for years. FUCKING RIOT! Of course, I put on my best "oooohhhhh, yeah, THAT needs a battery...I'll get RIGHT on that today!" face...furrowed brow included. And so I had to waste $1.99 today on a fucking 9-volt battery...ShopRite brand, of course. Only the BEST life-saving batteries for ME. We're also in need of carbon monoxide detectors...which pisses me off, because I always kinda wanted to prove that I COULD detect "something was wrong" without a detector. Odorless, my ass. How can you NOT know something is wrong?!? Daredevil me! And this is all so odd, coming mere days after I decided I should have a Fire Bag for my diaries and photos. And the guy looked like he stepped off the set of BARNEY MILLER. Ok, that's today's "only in my life" anecdote...