Roommates

We were joined yesterday by another colleague, BN, and without asking permission, he simply joined the chorus of snorning last night. Right now, behind me, he lies — arm over his head and snoring plentifully. His distinctive contribution is the sound of someone rubbing bare knuckles over an old, metal, washboard. While BN and I were discussing our search last night, BJ, within 3 minutes of going prone, was beginning to honk, while KZ’s snoring last night was subtle. Nothing like that at all for BN.

My favorite roommate stories are these. I once roomed with my dear friend, now deceased, Paul Feinberg, some 21 years ago, in Dallas. He behaved himself throughout the daylight hours, but once the lights were out, he made noises from every opening in the body — I’ll let you fill in the sounds. All night long. In fact, his flatulence was colossal in impression. When we awoke in the morning, he “acted” like nothing had happened. I knew better.
Once I was staying with a missionary professor, a certain MW. His missionarying was in Spain, and I am notorious for cranking up the air conditioner to create Himalayan sleeping conditions. MW thought it was too cool, but instead of turning it down, he simply began to pull my covers off during the night — hoping to get me to change the temperature. First, the bed covers, then the blanket — and when it made no visible impact, he began to pull of my sheets. I caught him in his misdeed, reminded him of how long the Himalayan’s live, and we carried on. He was wearing a stocking cap to make his point, but I interpreted that as silly histrionics.