I'm worried about one of my cabinmates - I think there is something seriously wrong with him & I'm not sure he knows it. What does one do in this situation? Does one say something? I don't even know what language the poor bastard speaks.
Hour after hour after god-forsaken hour last night, as I was attempting to drift off to sleep while innocently indulging in a few sexual fantasies, the unearthly sounds emanating from this man's head & throat resembled more creatures - both real & fantasy alike - than I am comfortable being familiar with. Never in my life have I heard such decibels achieved with the human sinuses. From dying dogs (multiple breeds & sizes) to battling sea creatures to sea gulls in heat (individuals & entire flocks at once) to the demonic Balrog made famous in J.R.R. Tolken's "The Fellowship of the Ring" auditioning for a college a cappella group, this man of twisted talent never wanted for a creative new sadistic impression to impose upon & yank me from my lurid imagination. (Why is that tiny sailboat in the middle of the
For awhile I took the high road. After all, he wasn't exactly trying to be a nuisance, & I'm sure if he was aware someone was being kept awake by his late-night impressions of miniature woodland creatures in the throes of physical passion he'd be mortified & more than a little apologetic. After three hours I realized the high road is overrated. I began making little noises with the hope that he would rouse slightly, only slightly, & shift, maybe roll over or something. That's worked brilliantly in the past. No dice. I slowly began upping the ante by clearing my throat & coughing. I succeeded in giving myself a sore throat & nothing more.
This game continued for an hour or so (I think, although I have little concept of time in the complete absence of light) - me gradually upping the stakes (damn, what's with all the gambling references today?) as he mercilessly continued creating new, pissed-off sounding creatures to imitate. Finally I found myself speaking to him in full voice - arrete sil vous plais! (please stop!) - & giving him the honor of full-force, full-volume applause. Aside from the occasional scratch or the courtesy of a single (comparably) silent breath, nothing! Absolutely nothing! This man's ability to sleep was inhuman! It's quite obvious he's never known what it feels like to have assassins on his trail. Poor fool.
FINALLY I hit upon something that worked - a noise to which every person, human or in, is hardwired to pay attention: urgent knocking. Being on a top bunk I quickly rapped four or five times on the ceiling & he immediately awoke. I could picture him sitting up halfway in his bed, eyebrows furrowed, wondering if someone just knocked on his door & listening for any indication of a body in the hallway. Peace!! For a total of five minutes, after which he was right back at it. And as tired & frustrated as I was, I just didn't have the heart to do it again. It really wasn't his fault, & the only way for it to stay quiet was to keep him awake all night, & snoring or not he didn't deserve that. Of course neither did I, but really what was I to do? I tried sticking my head under my pillow, but the offensive nasal onslaught easily permeated that flimsy defense. Plus after only a few minutes my entire head was sweating like an eskimo in a sauna during the month of July...in hell. Scratch that idea.
And then, when I thought all was lost, out of nowhere it happened. Like the instantaneous realization of the meaning of the world's one true religion (I'll tell you later), I remember Virgin Atlantic Airlines. Like a holy savior appearing during a time of war, famine & broken Linkin' Logs (remember those!), the sudden memory of that blessed company's benevolence & generosity swept through my poor, soulless, sleep-deprived mind. More specifically, it was the complimentary packet they bestowed upon me & all their passengers during the flight from Boston Logan International Airport to London Heathrow International Airport
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