The Battle of Lights
9/15/201916. Count ‘em. 16 lights. Not large lights, like the ones you find in the parking lot of Walley World, but just small LED types. Some blinking rhythmically, some a constant glow, and then the pesky erratic ones with a mind of their own. Like when your cell phone recharging cord isn’t really plugged in, but kinda plugged in. Yea, that one. Anyway, that’s how many lights adorn my $323 room in Las Vegas as I settle in for the night prior to a long week of business.
So, if you were to ask my better 2/3 about my infatuation with light’s she’d call me faint hearted, weak, and well, quite frankly, a baby. Maybe I’m in the minority, but I’m one of those dudes who needs pitch black, I mean bottom of a two mile well black, when I zonk out. Not a twinkle, glimmer, or a tiny stream of light coming in from anywhere can I have when transitioning into La La land. You can fill me with melatonin, Nyquil, a triple dose of Ambien to promote the counting of sheep but I won’t saw my first “Z” if there is any form of light in the room. Any form!
Here is where the battle commences… The full-on nuclear type. I’ve towed the line with this Vegas brute on several occasions and have a bit of insight into what’s coming. Lights 1 thru 6 are easy to combat with my roll of black electrical tape I have strategically placed in my backpack. So, sitting there in my skivvies I go about portioning bits and pieces of stretchy electrical tape for the …. Blinking 12:00 microwave, the green flickering micro fridge light, the hair dryer light, the “call us if you’re drunk off your butt and you fall on your face” light (that one comes with its own little string BTW), the 96” TV front red power light and it’s blinking green light at the end of the power cord. Taking a deep breath I gulp a bit of the $17 libation out of the mini bar. I then forge on to improve my foxhole with two 2” long strips of tape to cover the 3 red glowing USB ports and two 110V outlets by the old school telephone. For anyone who’s keeping track that’s 9 so far, and still counting.
Now the Paleolithic phone requires an actual phone call to the front desk. Why you may ask? You guessed it. The joker who stayed in my room the night before was part of the “Bachelor Party” crew and didn’t delete the 17 messages his buddies left him as they waited in the lobby ready to head home after a long weekend of drunken debauchery. I work my way through the 6 prompts to delete the 17 “Hey man, we’re leaving without you” messages. There goes 6 minutes I can’t get back. But yet, when I hang up, the red light is still winking at me. All righty #10, you get a piece of tape too you bastard.
I quickly take an once sip of my refreshing drink costing me $1.41 and launch the final phase of my attack. The 3 sets of freaking curtains. So, there I am staring out at the beautiful mountains, the effervescent skyline and the Bellagio water show as I gracefully pull curtain set #1 across the spotless window. Being of the male persuasion, I first wonder what’s up with the see-through curtains anyway? Don’t they defeat the purpose? Nonetheless, I yank them from left to right and hear the clanking of the thingy’s on the curtain rod. Now set #2 makes more sense, these are heavier in nature, match the room somewhat, and slide in from both sides. Now #3 is a bit different. Much to my chagrin, and expectation, these do not, I repeat, do not, meet in the middle. They’re ¼ too short. Who the hell designed these things anyway? This is a problem. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt (you need light to create a shadow BTW) this is a weak point in my defense. The city that never sleeps is going to come barging through this opening all night in the form of a laser shot landing squarely on my pillow. Not one of the other 7 pillows on the bed, but the one I’m actually using. No doubt. But guess what? That’s why I brought a plastic Tupper Ware box full of all sized alligator clips! Ranging from baby ones you use for a small term paper to the big honkin’ ones that can hold a battleship to the dock. These things are massive! It takes me 3 of these light blocking sentinels to get the ¼” gap shut. The tension is so tight I know they can take an eye out if they inadvertently slip off and go ricocheting across the room.
K, so that’s 11 light bandits eradicated. 12, 13, 14 and 15 light ninjas raid the room quickly as I plug in my 2 cell phones, laptop and noise cancelling headphones (please don’t push that button!). I go hand-to-hand immediately as my tape goes back into action. Zipping, tearing and sticking. “They gone”.
Now my week long abode is lightless! Thank God! Time to hit the rack. Hibernation here we come. Whoop, whoop! Tugging my gel filled sleeping mask a little lower I sense a shadow cross the door to my room. #16! How could I forget #16? Damn. The door to the hallway… I stumble out of bed, split my toes on fancy chair in the corner then grope around the bathroom to find the massive pool towel. With a personal vengeance only P.T. Barnum could have known stuffing his 22 clowns into the mini car, I jam the towel under the doorway as hard as I can.
The Battle is won. The War? Perhaps not… I launch myself back into bed, bounce a few times, take a deep breath and quickly slide into the Rapid Eye Movement phase of my slumber.
What? Someone’s knocking on the door… “Mr. Dean? Good Evening Mr. Dean. The front desk said your message light has been flashing, can we help you with something?”
