Snore No More?

A letter from my fellow tenants was slipped under my door at 5 AM. In the past 13 years, my only interaction with this outspoken group had been an exchange of salvos regarding my attempt to rezone the building, and open a Dunkin Donuts in Apt. 4A. This idea, likely ahead of its time, never made it out of committee.

When the tenants’ letter arrived, I had assumed they were seeking my support in their efforts to have the building painted. My support not only would provide tacit recognition that I’m still alive, but also would be a critical component of any campaign where someone has to be there to let somebody in.

In the world that I envisioned, I would have picked up the letter, walked down to 4A for a fritter, then read my colleagues’ plea for support.

Regrettably, that scenario was relegated to the recesses of my imagination—a route that now requires an additional lane.

The letter read as follows:

Dear 3B:

A number of tenants have complained about your incessant snoring. What we find particularly troubling is that these diesel-like gurgles can be heard almost any hour of the day.

No snoring has been reported between 5:30 and 6 PM. We attribute this to the disappointing work of our afternoon shift.

These sounds must stop, 3B! Perhaps you could help us if you put on some clothes, come down to the lobby, and answer some of the many questions we have for you.

Such as:

What do you do?

What do you do?

What do you do?

There are many more questions, but that one, in particular, arises with startling regularity.

Other questions that demand your response to are:

Who are you?

What do you want?

Will you harm us?’

When do you get your mail?

What do you do?

What do you do?

What do you do?

There is mounting pressure to get that last question answered. If you told us what you did, perhaps we’d be more sympathetic to the grotesque gasping that caroms off the pipes.

You see, 3B, most of us awake each morning, and begin the workday. I’ll give you a few seconds to get a handle on that. We need our sleep, and you are depriving us of this.

I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling an appointment for you with Dr. Zane Kaptrow—an authority on snoring and editor of several prestigious yodeling journals.

I was taken aback. The letter had raised the prickly “What do you do?” issue. Society has recently legitimized the term “consultant.”

“I don’t do anything,” however, no matter how proudly it is proclaimed, remains an invitation to scorn and ridicule. Had I known this, I surely would have done some things differently.

As for the snoring was concerned, I agreed to see Dr. Kaptrow. I set up an appointment between 5:30 and 6—a time of the day I am generally standing, and better positioned to go somewhere.

I arrived at Kaptrows’s, and was immediately escorted into the observation room. It was there that my snoring would be observed by professionals—not an ad hoc group of hostile tenants.

Kaptrow entered the room, and asked me to snore. Normally, he would want me asleep, but the HMO was not convinced of its advantage.

I snored for several minutes, and we both agreed that it sounded pretty bad. He instructed me to continue as he filmed me snoring.

“Most of my patients are startled to see how much they snore. The fact that you’re awake will somewhat diminish its impact,” he said.

I went back to my snoring, as Kaptrow filmed the proceedings. Later we reviewed the tape.

Like many snorers, I get self-conscious watching myself snore. I’m always saying to myself, “This is not my best work.”

Kaptrow advised me to snore more frequently while awake, thus reducing the need to snore at night.

It also provides a needed distraction the next time I’m asked: “What do you do?” And those damn tenants will just have to consider the source.

Bye for now.
Kiss, kiss.

Lavender Magazine

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