At work, we have an alarm system. Not any sort of complex type alarm that drops steel cages and camouflaged men with rifles from the rafters, but just an alarm system that makes sense. You break in, the alarm rings, and that's that. Arming and disarming the device is equally simplistic. You put in a code and press the big "OFF" button. Sounds simple enough I know. Yet everyone in the office except myself and one other person has set the beast off. And not just once but multiple times. One of my bosses has set it off no less than 7 times in 2 months (due to that fact I think I should be the one in charge but that's another story). Yet it was I who had to suffer the horrible, horrible punishment because of it. You may not be aware, as I was not before this event, but false alarms supposedly cost a lot of money and man power. For wasting these precious resources, we were to be punished. Or rather, I was.

Walking into work one morning I was informed I'd have to attend an "alarm class" for everyone elses alarm incompatibility. I let loose a forced chuckle to make the person not feel as stupid as they should have for such a bad joke, as I often have to do in a place where people make jokes about keyboards and other nerdy things (if you've never had to endure computer programmer's joking around, be very glad). What little humor that statement originally contained was suddenly sucked dry when I was informed the "alarm class" was real. All too real I'd soon come to learn.

I found myself three weeks later sitting in a room downtown, loaded up until people were almost sitting in my lap (apparently alarms are much more complicated than I thought...which, mathematically speaking, means I'm some sort of freakin' genius). As 6 o'clock rolled in, so did the "teacher". When I say "rolled in" I mean "hobbled ever so slowly with the help of his cane". As I waited on him (his named turned out to be Rex, which I dare say was the surprise of my night... I never imagined a 76 year old having such a name) to make it to the stage, I browsed through the thick alarm booklet they handed us when we walked in. Stamped in big letters on the front were the letters "FAPA", which stands for False Alarm Prevention Association. That's when it occurred to me older people have way too much time on their hands, especially ole Rex. Under it was a false alarm symbol (too much time) with a circle around it and the familiar "NO!" slash across it. It was when I flipped to the final page that my first of many strong urges to leave the "class" took hold of me. There was a prayer in the back. And I don't mean a normal prayer. I mean an FAPA specific prayer. Rex claimed (because he read it to us, much to my dismay) that someone in the very first "alarm class" wrote it. To that I can confidently say: "bullshit". No one would spend any extra time having anything to do with that "class" than they were already forced too... especially not enough to write a page long prayer. I kept waiting for the lightning to strike but it never did.

Rex had been standing still for a while now, I assumed resting. Then I noticed he was staring at the wall. A clock I took note. So I decided to watch it too. As soon as that second hand landed on twelve, he was off. In the most raspy, loud voice I've ever heard. I'm sure I'm not the only one who jumped when he spoke. The first few minutes his voiced seemed to waver as if he was trying to adjust the volume on his vocals but it never got under "loud".

It's good to have passion about something. But I feel that having passion about false alarm prevention is a waste of energy. Sure, false alarm concerns perhaps, but not passion. Well, Rex was passionate to bounds which I didn't know existed. I've never seen anything quite like it, and with luck, I never shall again. He screamed, he smacked the table with his barefist, he (somehow) jumped, he did it all.

I can tell you after sitting through that hell that there is no reason the class should have been two hours. He covered the same topics three times each at least. I heard five times that there are "no animal proof alarms... only animal resistant". Riveting. I heard statistics for the cost of sending an officer to check out your house four times. Compelling. He spend the remainder of the time telling us stories about "zany" incidents with false alarms he's had in the past and telling jokes worse than the ones I hear at work. Torturous.

You know how a lot of older people still have a bit of prejudice in them and refer to people not of their race as "they" and "them"? Well that is how he acted towards people who caused false alarms often. If I didn't know better (and I don't), I'd say he thought people who did such are the scum of the earth. Drugs, prostitution, murder? Whatever, as long as they don't cause false alarms while it's going on, it's okay with him. Anytime he told a particularly thrilling tale about a false alarm, he'd get very heated in his speech and begin with the yelling, and at the end resort to calling the person responsible any number of insults that cut about as deep as being called a "stupid head".

The moral of this story is this: if you don't think you're capable of working an alarm system, don't get one. Just let people rob you because in the end, you can get replacements for your Pokemon collection and life-sized Star Trek uniforms, but you can't get back those two hours of your life (and the small part of your soul) an "alarm class" sucks out of you.

concert aftermath
Still recovering from my concert going on Friday. Nothing really happened except a lot of standing, but that takes it out of you sometimes. I had to brave many hazards; defending myself from the drunks who didn't like my straight-edge T-shirt - a special gift from a special person (the fact that it's worn and dying doesn't change the fact that it's my favorite shirt). I guess it's okay to state your opinions, be it vocal or on a shirt, until you say something bad about drugs or alcohol, then it all hits the fan. Another obstacle was having to withstand the barrage of bad music (well, one band was decent but the other was a hardcore clich� "punk" band) until the band I went to see came out. Stabbing Westward put on quite a show. Likely the most powerful one I've seen in a while (I've always felt I can relate to the lyrics to a great extent). Even them not playing 'Waking Up Beside You" didn't bother me too much it was so good. Usually by the end of a set I'm to the point where I'm ready to leave, but I felt this show was finished far too early. In fact, I was rather depressed when it was done. But I didn't have long to weep since I had to get going before the Toadies came out and ruined my music buzz. It was nice to finally get in a crowd and jump around a bit.

On that note, can anyone tell me why people get mad when you jump around on the ground floor? What are they doing at the front if they don't want to get shoved around a bit for. I myself like to just stand there and enjoy the band without having to worry about getting punched in the grill, but I do like a bit of movement with my extremely loud and enjoyable music. Nothing worse than going to a show where no one moves at all. Not only do you feel kind of silly being the only person thrashing about but it really kind of ruins the mood of the show.

And let me tell you what... I'm a straight kinda guy but when Chris took his shirt off...DAMN, I almost passed out. After screaming "oh my god, oh my god!" really high-pitched and crying a bit, of course.

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