How to Make Your Departure

As I've said many times here, I'm moving soon and I'm starting to get jazzed about it. I don't really know what all is involved with me moving, though. For instance, I'm probably supposed to notify my current apartment complex that I'm leaving; I've done this, with a fancy envelope and a letter and everything. The part I don't get is when the complex takes a look at my apartment and tells me that I owe them thousands of dollars in damages. They will corner me in my living room and scream, "What was this room used for, yak breeding? You never paid a yak deposit!" And I'll feebly protest, "No no, I'm just a spiller." "Yeah," they will snort, "a spiller of yak feces." I really don't see that conversation going well.

The only other time I moved out of an apartment, I let Will and Paddy do all of the talking. They massaged the apartment complex and made sure I didn't have to sign over any kidneys for damages. I didn't have to do anything, except for return the room to its original condition. That meant I had to reactive the fire alarm. I disabled it originally because it started to go off in the middle of the night and terrify me, my roommates, and my yaks. Thinking quickly, I just took it down from the ceiling and stuck it in the underwear drawer.

That worked well for like 6 months. Not only were we not incinerated to a crisp, but the only screeching noises in the middle of the night were Paddy's night terrors. The day I was moving out, which happened to be after everyone else, I remembered the fire alarm. I climbed up on the last piece of furniture in my room and connected it with its battery on the ceiling. Immediately, it started wailing again. I took it down and began to experiment. I tried new batteries, new seating positions, everything I could think of, and the damn thing just wouldn't be quiet.

Finally, I just gave up. I loaded the rest of my stuff in my car, and then, as quickly as possible, I reconnected the fire alarm. It started going crazy and I hightailed it for my car. From the parking lot, I could still hear it going off. I got in my car and zoomed north, waiting for the call on my cell phone. The maintenance guys were supposed to come by later that day to check the place out, and I knew exactly what they'd find. They'd find a spotless apartment, completely immaculate, except for the berzerk fire alarm in my room, which had shattered all of the windows in the joint and attracted an apartment full of wailing stray dogs.

It's been a few years since then, and I never did hear anything. I don't know if that's because Will and Paddy took the fall for me, or if the complex just didn't care. It has given me an idea, though. The next time I move, I'm setting off the fire alarm before I go. It seems to me that'd be the perfect diversion while I get the yaks out of the parking lot.