In March 1999, I traveled from northern Italy to Las Vegas for a family medicine conference. I was stationed in northern Italy at the time, so this meant long flights over several time zones, and the kind of jet lag where your brain is only half-engaged.
Being a thrifty military doc, I decided to split a hotel room with a colleague. After all, we were saving taxpayer dollars and it would be a good opportunity to reconnect with an old friend.
Two queen beds.
He took the one by the bathroom.
I took the one by the window.
Simple. Sensible. Foolproof. What could possibly go wrong?
Well… Later that night, during what my mind and body thought was “some random hour of the night in a nice little villa in northern Italy,” nature called.
I rolled out of my bed, shuffled to the bathroom, did what needed to be done, and stumbled back out of the bathroom into the dark.
That’s when my jet-lagged brain betrayed me. Somewhere between toilet and bed, my mind foggly decided:
“I’m home. That lump in the bed by the bathroom… Diana, sleeping soundly.”
This felt 100% true to my sleepy, time-zone-scrambled brain. So I walked over to “my side” of the bed by the bathroom—my colleague’s bed—lifted the covers, deftly slid in, scooted up beside the warm lump, and settled into a gentle, loving spoon of “Diana.”
Instantly, the “lump” went vertical. My roommate exploded out of a sound sleep like the Space Shuttle. One second: peaceful REM. The next: full launch.
He shot upright, eyes wide. I froze. He froze. We are both now very-much wide awake. Two grown men, nose-to-nose in the dark, scrambling for understanding and clarity. Trying to find the right words…
I can attest there are really no good words for that moment. At least none that I could find. It’s a faux pas not easily walked back or recovered from.
“Sorry, I thought you were Diana” simply did not suffice.
I clumsily scrambled out of his bed so fast I nearly left my soul behind, tripping over the edge of the mattress, the carpet, and my own dignity on the way back to my bed by the window.
I apologized. Profusely.
He made a few dazed, grumbling noises that I think meant, “It’s okay, but this will haunt you forever.”
I lay there on my bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, the neon lights of “Sin City” strobing through the hotel window beside me, and me, replaying the dreadful scene on loop.
I don’t think I slept another wink the rest of the night.
On the bright side, at least I saved the taxpayers a little money by sharing the room.
Totally worth it.
(Okay, maybe not.)
Dash Stories 