Four strikes, you’re out!

Ever hop in the shower only to realize you forgot to grab a towel? It happens. Ever get yourself locked out of your own linen closet while frantically trying to rectify that problem? No? Just my house? Thought so.

With a foster care license comes A LOT of paperwork and rules. Rules like hot water temperature no higher than 120 degrees and medications locked up. I used to use a few medication safes from Amazon. That got to be a serious pain in the butt and some household occupants spent more time trying to crack my combination codes than they do on their homework.

After two snafus, we decided to just go with a fingerprint lock on the closet in our master bathroom. By we, I am pretty sure it was hubby that came up with this idea. You’ll see why thats important here in a minute. A minute spent on Amazon and I am anxiously awaiting the freedom from three little combination locks to arrive on my porch. The day comes, and hubby was apparently just as excited as I was, as he installed it without hesitation or complaining that I give him too many things to do. Poor hubby. He is in a constant state of tired. Some of that I take credit for, the rest I blame on a Facebook Marketplace addiction that he won’t admit he has. Anywhooooo, he installs this fancy new lock and I am over the moon that this means I can now participate in Pill Pack type services where meds are already sorted by dose/day/person. Life changing.

I program myself as an administrator because, lets face it, hubby is never going to need to be in this closet for med times and of the “old people” living here, I am the most technically competent. The process involves capturing the thumbprint six times. It only takes a minute, I follow its prompts and have success. I call in hubby, explain the process as it is about to happen and let it happen. Instead of patiently following the prompts, he can’t possibly tap his thumb on that sensor fast enough. “I’m done!” he yells. Great. Good to go. I take the emergency key and put it inside my safe. I can’t really even understand why I would need this key, unless the batteries die. I could not have been more wrong.

The next morning, hubby takes his shower. The water shuts off and I hear… Beep. “What the heck.” Beep. “Son of a…” Beep. “What the F&#k!” Beep followed by a siren noise, because after four attempts your fingerprint game is over and you are now at the mercy of the administrator. BA HA HA HA HA. I can’t tell you what hubby said next, as he is standing there, all wet and locked out of the closet, which happens to contain not only the medications, but, the towels. I will admit that I laughed as I appeared with the emergency key to free him from his shower prison. He was not as amused as I was. This has now happened so many times that he stops at three of those insulting little Beep’s and I silently come in, place my thumb on the sensor to hear, “Unlocked” and I silently exit. Hubby stands there, cursing the lock as I go. Now he pretty much hates this lock, and he tells it as much every time it doesn’t behave as he thinks it should. I guess insulting the little computer voice that lives inside the knob helps with the frustration. I’m just glad this wasn’t even my idea.