Remote Learning

I need to apologize to my neighbors.

Living in a loft with apparently thinner walls, I’m grateful for some hearing loss. I’m sure I miss a lot.

I’m hoping my neighbors are just as deaf or, even better, away.

I fall asleep with the television on most nights. Usually I find something light, pleasant, and at best mildly engaging. Super mildly engaging is even better. I set the sleep timer most nights for 30 minutes. I’m usually asleep before the television shuts off. Usually by about 27-28 minutes. Often, it’s a British comedy panel show.

It was a practice I picked up in hotels. It’s a version of white noise, and it was terrific in hotels with thinner walls where other noises were distracting and would keep you up. Generally, I had the television on a lower volume often with closed captioning, and I’d get to sleep quickly. The practice saved many a workshop or Sunday sermon from being interrupted with multiple yawns.

I started doing it at home. And as I’ve gotten older and wake up in the middle of the night, as older men do, I can wake up enough to repeat the process once or twice a night. This is especially true on Mounjaro, one of my diabetes medications, recommends I drink 2-3 liters of water a day to help with the side effects. Would you rather get up to use the restroom or be kept up because of nausea, constipation, and/or dehydration (the most common side effects)?

Last night was a bit different. I was a little wired coming in from tennis having played well and moved well (the two always go together) and took the extra energy upon coming home to get a few things done around the house. It was a bit later than usual when I got to bed.

I turned on the television and that was the last thing I remember.

Around 2:30, near as I can comprehend, I rolled over. Where was that loud noise coming from? It took a second for me to realize it was television. I scrambled for the remote. It took about 10 seconds, which seemed like 10 minutes, to realize it was under me. I had rolled on top of it.

In the haze, I was able to grab the remote and hit the mute button. The sound stopped. I was now dazed, annoyed, and awake. After a moment, I decided the smart thing to do was to decrease the volume.

As soon as I unmuted, I realized, amidst the sounds that would drown out a smoke alarm going off, that this was a mistake. I hit the mute as quickly as I could. I had also noticed that the volume had gotten to “100”. I had no idea how other than to guess that my body had landed squarely on the “up” button—and stayed there all the way up.

In the fog, I realized with some gratitude there were two remotes. One which is used to turn the television on. The other allows you to navigate the apps to the various streaming services. If I could find the other remote, I could turn the television off, then turn it back on. The screen would show the apps on a silent screen and then I could adjust the volume.

It took a moment to find the other remote. It wasn’t next to me. It wasn’t on the table next to the bed. It wasn’t visible on the floor. I eventually got up and discovered that it was under the bed. I tried not to think about how it got there as that would wake me up more which would make going back to sleep tougher.

I was able to turn on the television and adjust the volume, marveling at how long it took the volume to go from 100 to 4, even when you didn’t stop pressing the button. Why hadn’t I noticed the volume on the way up? I must have been deeply asleep.

It was then the twin comprehensions set in.

One, I was now wide awake.

Two, I suspected I wasn’t the only one. It had been that loud. Gratefully, I remembered the neighbors on one side were separated by a building storage closet where the property manager kept the Christmas tree and other decorations. I hoped the sound hadn’t carried through that. On the other side, which was farther away from the television, the row of bookcases filled with books probably provided some sound barrier. Living on the ground floor, there was no one below. Above, however, was another matter.

I listened for a moment surrounded by silence. I heard no wary footsteps (or the dog’s toenails clattering which I often hear), or anything else. I hoped the claxon of the television had affected just me.

I wondered if I should leave a note on their doors of apology. Not that I knew their names. I knew neighbors on one side by sight. I might be able to recognize the neighbors on the other side, if they were still there, as I hadn’t seen anyone in a while. They could also be away. I have no idea who lives above me though I could see who brings what dogs down the back stairs to get outside quickly. Especially if I checked now, in the middle of the night. I suspected I wasn’t the only one who had to use the restroom after they woke up, including those with 4 legs.

I returned to bed contemplating my options. I made it through a show and a half before drifting off and waking up this morning. I was grateful when I headed out for the morning walk to not find a note on the door.

Of course, unless I run into a neighbor who mentions it, which seems unlikely (perhaps I should say it’s a remote possibility) since I suspect they don’t know who I am, the incident has passed.

I’m sure I’ll be a little more intentional about the remote for a few days. Perhaps longer. As Erma Bombeck once wrote, “Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving.”

I’ll feel guilty for a while, I’m sure. I suspect though I’ll feel a little less guilty after a nap.