…this guy. It’s happened more than once now. The guy who maybe has their weekday alarm still set, but it’s Saturday. He gets back to the hostel, pissed out his mind, goes to sleep and one hour later his work alarm goes off. Of corse this morning it doesn’t wake him up, only, I dunno, everyone else in the room who didnt join in with his drinking that night.
This happened at my first hostel of my Europe leg. I was staying in Barcelona with Ted and had booked one of the cheapest options, which meant we were in a 10 bed dorm.
On the second day a group of 8 French young lads, with two girls, arrived and filled the rest of the room, replacing the large group of young English lads.
The following night me and Ted stayed in, due to major hangover. They had no such plans, they were going bigger tonight, it was their last night.
At about 5am they started to come home. They all fell asleep quite quickly. Fantastic, just one hours sleep lost.
All was quiet but then someone started playing music on their phone. ‘Strange,’ I thought. 6am and he’s playing music. Maybe he can’t sleep, or maybe this is the song that sends him to sleep. I’ll let it slide, it’s not that loud.
Then it finished, ok great I can go to sleep.
No, no you can’t, he’s playing it again.
Time for tactic number one to get this guy to shut up. The English tactic.
I loudly huff/sigh and roll over to let him know I’m still awake and to TURN THE MUSIC OFF OR ILL KILL YOU.
Tactic fail. The song starts for a third time, this isn’t gonna stop unless I take affirmative action.
The song, by the way, is awful. I kid you not, it is a remix of ‘I don’t want no scrub’ by Bastille…just imagine it for a minute, or better yet go to YouTube and listen to it.
The situation is made slightly worse by the fact that I hate Bastille with absolute passion. Whilst living in Bristol, there was a guy who lived in the flat above who used to play Bastille, very loud, every morning. There was nothing I could do about it, the ceilings were so high I couldn’t even hit it with a broom, granny style. So since then, or probably before actually, I hated Bastille.
I hate Bastille.
Back to the point. We are on our third play of ‘no scrub, remixed by Bastille’.
Time to go full European, no more sighs and rolling around, shit just got real. I stand up, go to his bed, and probably too violently shove his leg and tell him ‘your alarm is going off, switch it off, please’. Or something along those lines.
‘What?’ He replies
‘Your alarm is going, turn it off’
He stirs a bit, clearly still drunk ‘No it’s not’. He instantly falls back asleep.
I shove his leg again ‘yes it is, I can see your phone, IN YOUR HAND, WITH THE SCREEN LIGHT ON AND SOUND COMING OUT’.
‘Uhhh, wuhht, oh’
‘Turn it off!’
He stirs, looks at the phone in his hand and makes the noise stop.
I go back to bed. Success, idiot neutralised.
Not so much longer later, maybe let’s say, 9 minutes, I dunno, I guess, maybe the length of time an alarm stays off for the benefit of the snoozer, the song starts again.
I pretend to ignore it, I know Ted is awake and he can only take it for so long. I was right, after half the song he gets up, looks over to mr alarm, wacks his leg and states his position:
‘Mate, your alarm is going off’
‘Uhhh, wuhht? I’m French?’
‘….yes, you’re French, and your alarm is going off, again, switch it off.’
‘Nah it’s not’
‘I can see the phone in your hand’.
‘Oh ok’. Switches alarm off, we all get on with our lives.