There's something about the shrill, piercing beep of smoke alarms that makes me lose my shit. Especially when they go off when you're only cooking bacon and NOT setting your apartment on fire.
I also hate that our smoke alarm is on the ceiling, which is a good fifteen-feet high. And when said smoke alarm goes off while I'm cooking bacon, I freak out, especially when I locate the alarm for the first time and realize, "No, I cannot jump ten feet in the air." And then I realize for the first time the need for a kitchen table and chairs. If only we had room for them, we'd have something on which I could stand to be able to turn off the alarm. Instead, I had to stack two milk crates in the middle of the front hall and then jump on them.
The alarm turned itself off before I managed to even reach it. That motherfucker.