Last Laugh | The Spark’s Still There
THINGS THAT GO “BZZZT!” IN THE NIGHT By Lauren Hammack Want to comment on Lauren’s tales or share some of your own? Write to her at lauren.hammack@southwesternpub.com.
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e’ve got a couple of yappy dogs at our house, and my sons have been urging me to get the “no bark” collars that give vociferous pups an electric “reminder” to stop barking. I’ve refused to buy them – not because the constant, rapid-fire noise isn’t annoying, but because the two dogs combined don’t weigh 10 pounds. I’m worried they’d get such a jolt from the behavior-correcting collars that they’d become catatonic, the way McMurphy appeared to be in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” I’m not entirely opposed to the practice of shock therapy, however: I once used it on my husband Bob to “retrain” him not to snore. The Snore No More was a battery-operated armband designed to administer who knows how many volts of electric shock to the offending sleeper at the sound of the first snore, a method the product claimed would “gently” correct the behavior without waking its victim. The result would be a better night’s sleep for everyone within earshot… namely me. Before the Snore No More, my method of controlling Bob’s snoring had been the time-honored kick in the leg. The disadvantage of kicking someone throughout the night – no matter how justifiably – is that voluntarily flailing a leg requires some level of alertness. Quality REM sleep had no place in my night. By now thoroughly battered, Bob was unusually receptive to the idea of an unobtrusive arm cuff to cure his snoring. His accompanying guilt over keeping me from a good night’s sleep made him an easy target. Bedtime, Night One: With fresh batteries installed and the armband in place, Bob sat patiently as I made long, loud snoring sounds to adjust the noise sensitivity dial. Satisfied with his visible flinching, I announced that we were ready for bed. Within seconds, we realized that the noise-activated Snore No More did not discriminate between sounds. As soon as I cleared my throat, Bob got zapped. When he yelped in response, he got zapped. When a car’s tires screeched by, he got zapped. When a pair of feral cats combusted into a fight outside, he nearly died. 150
slice | april 2011
“Well (bzzzt!),” I said, “we’ll (bzzzt!) just (bzzzt!) have (bzzzt!) to (bzt!) be (bzt!) careful (bzzzzzzzzt!) not (bzt!) to (bzt!) make (bzzzt!) so (bzt!) much (bzzt!) noise (bzzzt!) before (bzzzt!) we (bzt!) fall (bzzzt!) asleep (bzzzt!).” The smell of singed hair was now wafting from Bob’s side of the bed, but I’d forgotten to tell him something urgent. “Hey! (BZZZZZZZZZZZZT!) They’re (bzzzt!) getting (bzzzt!) ready (bzzzt!) to (bzt!) remodel (bzzzt!) the (bzt!) Homeland (bzzzt!) deli (bzzzt!)!” Clear throat: bzzzt! Cough: bzt! bzt! bzt! bzt! bzt! bzt! Sigh audibly in satisfaction that the Snore No More is a miraculous peacekeeper: bzzzt! Bob had no choice but to suffer in silence; any protest from him only meant further torture. By the end of the first night, he could have charged his cell phone just by touching it. Bedtime, Night Two: Bob, now a little wiser and somewhat twitchier, suggested we turn down the adjustable voltage level. The previous night’s shock therapy had left him considerably sleep-deprived; he’d zapped himself repeatedly with his own snoring. I assured him that this was behavioral therapy, and that we couldn’t expect an overnight cure. Changing behavior takes time, I told him. “Get strapped up,” I said. Reluctantly, Bob slipped on the armband and settled into bed to face his nocturnal lot. The sight of him was pathetic – and comical. I couldn’t help laughing. “Ha (bzt!) ha (bzt!) ha (bzt!) ha (bzt!) ha (bzt!) ha (bzt!) ha (bzt!) haaaaaaaaaa (bzzzzzzzzzt!)!” Bob flopped like a landed fish before ripping off the armband and hurling it across the room in the kind of protest only a twitchy, sleep-deprived, electrically charged man could stage. “You can just kick me,” he huffed, with a final twitch. Bob’s snores seemed to resonate with deep satisfaction that night, despite my repeated kicks. As I lay awake in the darkness, I noticed the rejected Snore No More, crumpled along the baseboard, sending out a light show of tiny sparks with each defiant snore.