All of my fretting about my car was good in one respect: It got my mind off of the fact that, on Sunday morning while I was getting ready to go out, my smoke detector decided to start chirping at me every 90 seconds. I called it in to maintenance, who, apparently decided to do nothing about it -- which I didn't notice because it stopped on its own.
. . . Until 5 am Monday morning.
Needless to say, I was ready to kill someone by the time the maintenance guy showed up to fix it (at around 10:30 that morning). Nothing like five-plus hours of constant, shrill beeping to put a girl in a good mood. It's a good thing that I'm somewhat of an expert in sleeping through alarms. (And at least it wasn't building-wide this time. Actually, there hasn't been one of those in a while.)
Right after they finally quieted the damn thing -- which took all of five minutes -- I had a realization: I'd have been better off cooking something smoky enough to really set the thing off, and then waiting for the fire department to come and fix it for me.