Though, unfortunately, we no longer have the guillotine, we now have someone stalking the hotel corridors on behalf of snore hounds.
Created by a major hotel chain, the protector of a good night’s sleep is called the Snore Patrol (loosely affiliated with several errant Boy Scout patrols, a sixth-grade safety patrol, and the musical group, the Snow Patrol.)
I say it’s about time. The Snore Patrol will walk (I suggest swagger) the halls of the property attuned to those disturbing the sleep of the innocents, and when necessary will ask the nasal jammers to be quiet (I suggest a quick introduction to waterboarding).
And if this pacifistic approach doesn’t work: the offenders will be asked to move to a floor with an open bar at the ice machine, a rock ‘n roll band at the elevators, and wild animals roaming the halls.
In case you haven’t guessed by now, reader, I am a light sleeper. Perhaps even an ultra-light sleeper. (On one occasion I actually moved to another hotel room because little, gray birds were making too much noise outside my window. Though small, they can be incredibly obnoxious!)
From experience, I always ask for a room away from the street, off the lobby and away from the elevators. (And now, away from any birds.) I also don’t want to be near the ice machines nor have my bed against a wall with a TV on the other side. I’m not only a Hilton Honors member, but the staff also registers me as a Pain in the Butt.
After checking in, I don’t unpack. I stand in the middle of the room for several minutes and just listen. (I know, I know, you’re asking if I packed a straitjacket. But I can’t help the fact I’m noise phobic. It’s probably because I hate my mother.)
During a recent noise reconnaissance I heard a pinging in the air conditioner. I immediately moved to another room.
If I hadn’t, I’d obsess on that incessant dinging sound until I was part of some Edgar Allan Poe story.
If I check in and the TV next door is on and loud enough for me to hear I immediately switch rooms. I once stayed in four different hotel rooms—in one night.
I’m not an easy person to travel with.
But nothing disturbs me more than actually hearing the warthog next door snoring and slobbering when I’m trying to sleep. (And, yes, I travel with ear plugs but sometimes they aren’t enough!)
So now I’m only staying at hotels with a snore patrol. And I’m thinking it might be fun to go out with the patrol some nights (much like a ride-a-long with the police) and see how these professionals operate. Maybe bust down a door and smash a couple of congested airways.
I’d like to meet with one of the esteemed Snore Monitors. I understand the training to be a snore monitor is comparable to that of the Navy SEALS, except the monitors don’t get in water, do pushups and scream Hoo Yah! (And though they do practice hand-to-hand combat, it’s with pillows.)
So I applaud the addition of the illustrious Snore Patrol.
Now if they can just do something about all those little, silly lights that remain on after I’ve tucked myself in (smoke alarms, phones, Internet connection, security camera?).
Because even after I’ve closed my eyes I can still see them glowing in the dark.
And I’m tired of covering them up with my socks.