Dear Reader, that loud blaring alarm continued to sound in our hotel room, even after the HM had been down to the lobby and back up to the third floor, and we had both disrobed and gotten back into bed.
"This is bizarre! What do we do now?" I wondered. Trust me, Reader Dear, you could not have slept through that noise. And trust me again, it's for sure that if you couldn't snooze while it was sounding, there was even less possibility that I could sleep.
"Well," said the HM, "When I was down there in the lobby, they were trying to find someone who knew how to turn off the alarm."
Yikes. In this on-going metaphor, Reader Dear, it was a bit like trying to find some solution to the pandemic other than wearing a mask and staying home (sticking with the metaphor, compare, let's say, to staying outside the building, or declaring this whole loud alarm was simply a hoax [okay, okay, it's not a perfect metaphor, I'll grant you that. There was no way to ignore a noise that was loud enough to wake the (nearly) dead])!
The HM and I, we griped and griped.
About a half-hour of griping ensued. And then, just like that, all was quiet.
The end.
p.s. Next morning, there were conspiracy theories in the breakfast room. Someone said the alarm was caused by a malfunctioning hair dryer. Someone claimed the staff was teaching all the new employees how to prepare for such events. They were all theories. Only theories. Similar to my theory that you, Reader Dear, are tired of hearing about the alarming alarm. I maintain that's better than being simply tired from a loss of sleep.
The actual end.
1 comment:
I have to say, this is remarkable--your story winding up as an essay on the pandemic. Remarkable. Genius.
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