Sleep, Refrigerated

Waking up early on Christmas morning does not require an alarm clock. (Which is probably best, considering my track record with abusing those infernal machines) – Chris Condon, three days ago

It appears I have some explaining to do.

YAB has gone to great lengths to document my inability to sleep on a normal sleep schedule, fall into slumber at the drop of a hat, and not allow any anti-ergonomic obstacle to get in the way of my pursuit of dreamland. What we have failed to do, however, was to provide any background on my battle with the nemesis of naptime: the alarm clock.

In a clash of two rivals, there are many means to slay a foe. You can overpower him with your superior strength. You can lull him into a false sense of security and then attack. You could pounce when he least expects it. But with my alarm clock, time and time again, I’ve taken a fourth route: instill complete and utter confusion.

The year was 1998. This was the first year of my life I had to share a bedroom with another person. But that’s what college admission boards count on. 2 people in every room equal twice the amount of tuition checks. And as Dave Reif found out that year, I’m not exactly a morning person. But before I reveal my sleeping idiosyncrasies, it’s worth mentioning that Dave, too, was a creature of hibernating habit. He was the type of guy that lived by a schedule, which was micromanaged as much as Steinbrenner with the Yankees. He’d come into the room, lie down on his bed, glance at his alarm clock, deem use of it a waste of time, and instead ask me for a favor.

“Hey, can you wake me up in seven minutes?”

Yes, my roommate took these types of naps all the time. He called them power naps. I called them a great reason to hit my roommate with a hockey stick. Nonetheless, even this weirdo method couldn’t prepare him for what he saw me do one morning in November.

I had a makeshift nightstand by my bed in Monroe 227. Aside from a desklamp, a picture frame, and maybe a book I was supposed to be reading, the only truly essential piece on said stand was an alarm clock. Dave’s clock was across the room, and its number glowed green – the color of serenity. I highly recommend green or blue digital numbers for your alarm clock. When his clock would sound its alarm, I would wake up and see the green numbers and think to myself, “No, it’s cool, Chris. Those numbers are peaceful, and you can go back to bed. It’s not your alarm clock going off.” Guess what color my alarm clock numbers were?

RED.

When I wake up and see those red numbers of doom staring me in the face, I tend to panic. The buzzing of music from the campus radio station alone freaks me out a bit. This is why when on that fateful morning when it was time to get up, I did something truly odd with the clock.Taking this from Dave’s perspective is probably more accurate. Since I turn the alarm on to be as loud as possible, the poor kid had to wake up when I woke up whether he planned to or not. But I guess, for comedy’s sake he did. Otherwise, we would never have had an eyewitness account of Condon attempting to silence his alarm clock by stuffing inside of his nightstand-slash-refrigerator.

Dave: Chris, what are you doing?
Chris: I’m turning off my alarm clock.
Dave: Uh, no you’re not.
Chris: Yeah, I am, I don’t have to get up yet.
Dave: CHRIS! WAKE UP!
Chris: (realizes and feels the cold from inside the fridge) Oh. Right.