It was an failure in execution

The instructions were flawless.
The execution of those instructions, well, that was another story.
Saturday was my wife’s college reunion and a great chance to get together with old friends, reminisce, and share pictures of grandchildren.
My sister was going to be out of town and offered the use of her house so we wouldn’t have to drive back to Jay County that night after the festivities.
What could go wrong?
You’ll have to learn how to shut off the alarm system, she said, as if to provide an answer to that question.
She sent detailed instructions early last week. They had a house-sitter who was going to be in and out during the same weekend, but the alarm would be set the way it always is when they’re away for any length of time.
On the surface, it seemed simple enough.
Use the key to open the right door. Make sure the cat didn’t get out. Find the keypad for the alarm system. Then enter the code.
If I screwed that up, the phone would ring and I would have to give them a password, which my sister provided.
If I screwed that up, I might be talking to a deputy sheriff soon afterwards.
Somehow, that last option added a level of anxiety to the whole process.
We drove down Saturday about mid-day and decided to sort out the alarm thingie during daylight hours before any reunion-related celebration that might have clouded my judgment.
Stopping for fast food carry-out, we were juggling drinks and a bag of sandwiches as I opened the door.
Like a pro, I went directly to the alarm keypad. A serious-sounding beep had been emitted from the instant I opened the door, and it kept beeping.
The day was a little gloomy and the house was dark. I wasted precious seconds trying to find the right light switch, then went ahead and did my best with the keypad.
The first of the numbers went in fine, but the final one was a little tricky. The keys had not just numbers but words, and I couldn’t find the right word in the dim light.
I tried what I thought was the right one.
And I was wrong.
In a matter of seconds, the phone began to ring.
My wife and I both said the password out-loud to remind ourselves. But when I found the phone, I couldn’t instantly figure out which button to push to answer.
When I did, I was about two seconds too late. I was listening to a dial tone.
It looks like we’ll be meeting someone from the sheriff’s office, I told my wife.
By now, both of us were thoroughly frazzled and the prospect of trying to digest a fast-food lunch did not bode well. Fortunately, there’s one more step in the process.
When my wife phoned my sister to let her know what had happened, she explained that the alarm company was supposed to contact her before calling the police.
It’s okay, she insisted. It’s happened before. Others have done it.
And, she said, the deputies are really nice about it if they show up.
In the end, they didn’t. But that didn’t stop me from looking out the window every few minutes as I ate my sandwich.[[In-content Ad]]