It was pitch black in my room. That there was a light on in the hallway didn’t wake me to the possibility of turning on the light in my room. I was and remained quite disoriented.
Not surprising, since this was yet another strange room where I was staying. By this time I was in Kafanchan, land of the Fulani, land without the violence of Bauchi. The good bishop had decided to put me in a hotel, one that was quite near his place. I was to be there three nights. This was the second one.
Some time during the night I awoke to make a trip to the bathroom. I remembered from the night before that the door to the right of the bed was not the door to the bathroom but to the hallway. I had realized my error in time, in case you were wondering. So this night I had the presence of mind to go to the left of the bed and follow the wall to where it turns for the door to the bathroom.
No problem. Orientation in hotel rooms in the middle of the night with a slight sense of urgency and the memory of past errors has never been a problem for me.
I found the wall back from the left side of the bed – right where it ought to have been. I traced it with my hand from left to right. When I felt the controls for the fan (and the light switch!) I knew I had come to the edge where the wall turns away from the bed for the door to the bathroom. One step forward and then step right into the bathroom.
One step forward about three feet too soon. And why did it have to be a stucco wall? That hurt!
Even then I couldn’t find the door I wanted. I felt the door for the closet, but it wasn’t supposed to be where it was. Finally I realized what my hand had touched and flipped up the light switch.
Like I said, orientation in hotel rooms in the night comes as no problem for me.
In the bathroom in the light I saw that the darn wall had drawn blood. Not much but it did take a bit of swabbing.
The next morning, traveling with two bishops to my next stop, they asked about the cut on my forehead. I told them, sheepishly. Their humor, in response, was only slightly disguised as they also offered consolation. Unlike you, gentle reader, who, I am sure, is entirely in sympathy and without any hint of hilarity at my grievous misfortune.
:-)
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1 comment:
Tad, after reading "All I want is a bed," I felt like I had been instrumental in preparing you for such conditions given our history of sharing rooms on vestry retreats -- Petersburg and Gordonsville, if I remember correctly, and Roslyn perhaps. I recall you had no trouble sleeping under such conditions. I guess it never occurred to me that we needed to talk about turning the light on in the middle of the night in a strange place. Sorry. Tim
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