Dr. Snoreslots, or, How I learned to stop worrying and love the noise

Cub Scouts.

Is there any activity more thrilling, more rejuvenating, more feel-good-about-yourself fun than taking a six-year-old on a campout with 200 other overstimulated boys? Apart from the day I got my do-it-yourself home lobotomy kit, I can’t think of a time I was more excited than the recent Cub Haunted Weekend at Camp Winnataska in lovely Analpimple, Alabama.

The stepminion had been exposed to the Cub Scouts through friends at school. Bless his little six-year-old heart, he fell in love with the thought of carving a ten-inch-long racecar, learning about nature, and going on campouts.

Ah, yes. The campouts.

“It’ll be fun!” Aries28 chirped incessantly. “You and the Minion can bond! And there’ll be so much to do! He’s so excited about it! Don’t worry about me! I’m sure I’ll find something to do with you two gone for 24 hours! Besides miss you two, I mean! You know I love you! Now for the love of God get out of my house!”

Five minutes after we pulled away, her friend Michelle came over and they got bombed on screwdrivers and Jack Daniels while Chippendales danced on my furniture. I’m still finding g-strings and dollar bills between the cushions.

But I digress. In preparing for the campout, I attempted to learn some pertinent information about the event. It’s been 30 years since I was in Cub Scouts, and even then my dad didn’t go on campouts with me. In fact, I don’t think Cub Scouts even went camping 30 years ago. All I remember is we used to meet after school in an unused back room that had a papier-mache volcano in it. I think it was somebody’s old science project that was being stored, but I suppose it could have been a portal to Hell. My memory isn’t what it used to be.

So I’m going over the list of things to bring, as recommended by the local Cub Scout Pack Leader (Motto: “If I’ve got to spend my spare time around 200 boys, then I’m going to make you miserable, too”). Some items were fairly obvious (sleeping bags, flashlights), while others were a bit ominous (a stomach-pump kit “just in case”). They also listed toilet paper, which should have been a tipoff to me. It’s not possible to have a good time on a trip that requires you to bring your own toilet paper.

“You’ll be in a bunkhouse!” screeched the Pack Mother, a matronly woman whose energy level leads me to believe she could get excited about watching rocks race. “There’ll be a bonfire! And activities! Your meals are included! Be sure to bring some Band-Aids and a tourniquet! Just in case!” Naturally, she was not going on this campout. As she walked away from me during the planning meeting, which was about two weeks before the actual campout, I could hear her shouting into her cell phone. “What do you mean, the Chippendales are completely booked that night? Every one of them? How is that possible?”

The strange thing is, although we were encouraged several times to bring the stomach pump, and the tourniquet, and the morphine, and the snakebit kit, and the myriad of other “just in case” items, nobody mentioned to me the one crucial item that would be necessary to survive the weekend with my sanity intact.


The stepminion and I get to the camp late Friday afternoon, and at first everything is okay. We find our bunkhouse, which was last cleaned when Roosevelt was in the Oval Office (Teddy, not Franklin). We have metal bunk beds with mattresses, although I am fervently grateful we brought sleeping bags. These mattresses look like the inside of a Chippendale’s g-string. A very old Chippendale’s g-string, belonging to a Chippendale who sweats a lot. And has some sort of crotch fungus.

So anyway, we settle in and go do the typical nighttime activities at this camp – a hayride, and going through a haunted house, and flinging pumpkins with catapults, and “jousting” in wheelbarrows, and various and sundry other activities. The evening ends at 10:30 with a bonfire that attracts bugs from as far away as Arkansas. The stepminion is irked with me for not bringing any marshmallows to roast over the fire, but I pacify him by letting him put the rubber hose of the stomach pump in the embers and watching it bubble and smoke.

Finally we retire to bed. Our bunkhouse has approximately 30 other boys and dads in it, one of whom is an Assistant Pack Leader. As he lowers his round self into the bed, he remarks “I hope y’all remembered to bring earplugs, because I snore very, very loudly.” There are a few chuckles. And then it happens.

I’m in the top bunk, because the stepminion doesn’t want to sleep on top. Immediately to my right is a boy who is about eight years old. His dad is in the lower bunk. So the man is maybe six feet away from me.

The instant the Assistant Pack Leader finished saying “I hope you brought earplugs”, this dad cuts loose with one of the loudest snores I have ever heard in my life. It’s the type of snore that people make intentionally when they’re joking about how loud someone snores. It’s entirely possible that sound waves from this snore are what caused the solar flares we’re experiencing now.

A few folks laugh a bit, as people always do when someone makes the obvious joke in such a situation. Ha-ha, demonstration of a loud snore right after someone else says they snore loudly. Oh, the humor. It is to laugh.

But then this guy snores again, even louder. The laughter abruptly stops. Uneasy glances are exchanged. Far off in the distance, a wolf howls.

And so the night begins. You may remember this night – it was the longest night in recorded history. I laid in my bunk, hands crossed behind my head (I remembered the stomach-pump kit, but I forgot pillows), feeling crotch fungus attempting to crawl onto my body, and watched the ceiling sink approximately eight inches every time this guy inhaled. And the exhales weren’t any better, either. He sounded like someone had stuffed a used Chippendale’s g-string in his sinuses when he tried to breathe out. It was one of those snuffly, phlegmy-sounding exhales, like when you jam the back of your tongue against your uvula and then try to breathe out through your mouth.

This went on for several decades. And then the unthinkable happens – the Assistant Pack Leader also begins snoring. How he went to sleep is beyond me, what with all the bunks being moved back and forth across the room from the force of the snorer’s breathing. But he did. His snoring isn’t as bad as Dr. Snoreslots, but it’s pretty impressive on its own.

So now we have some sort of sleep-induced version of Duelling Banjos going on in our bunkhouse. Dr. Snorelots would play a sinus riff, and Assistant Pack Leader would respond with a uvulatic paradiddle. Then they would join forces in an impressive tonsil-rattling crescendo, the results of which are still giving seismologists wet dreams as they examine their instrument recordings from the evening.

Just as I despaired of ever getting any sleep that night, inspiration struck, and shortly thereafter, blessed silence reigned. I managed to sleep about three hours.

For legal reasons, I don’t want to fully explain what happened. Let’s just say that, even after being exposed to a bonfire, the tubing from a stomach-pump kit makes a pretty damn good garrote.

And as an added bonus, I was awarded the “Community Service” merit badge by my bunkmates.

Bwaa Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Reading this is how you start your day people.

Well it may comfort you to know they’re all gay so Aries28’s virtue is intact. :smiley:

At least there wasn’t a rusty old pickup and a bee involved.

Thanks for the reminder of bug spray (not that you mentioned it, but you did bring up bugs) and earplugs, seeing as I’m going to an SCA event at a campsite this weekend. I sleep with earplugs anyway, but they’re easy to forget, and as for bugs…well, I hate huge itchy welts more than I hate dousing myself with chemicals.

I wish the people who snored like that would warn people more than thirty seconds prior to lights out. A day early would allow for some industrial-strength earplugs. They won’t keep out all the sound, but they’ll at least muffle it!

My God, that was fucking priceless. Thanks. :smiley:

Yah, Sauron, your OPs are fantastic ! glad you triumphed over Snorestoomuch.

If I may, I’d like to offer some advice as a snorer who has somehow managed to keep her friends after sharing bedrooms with them:

Make a small noise (“small” depends on the person) that will wake them up enough to stop the snoring but not fully wake up. You will have a short window of silence (again, “short” depending on the person) but my best friend whose floor I have slept on numerous times swears by it: she snaps her fingers quite loudly, I hiccup and roll over and stop snoring briefly, and have absolutely no awareness of it.

Start quiet. If it doesn’t work, keep getting a bit louder. The worst that will happen is you’ll wake him up completely but hey, at least he’ll be quiet !

Where’s the MacGyver in you? A snake bite kit, a stick and two marshmellows makes for a dandy set of ear muffs.

And I personally would have sent that ten inch racer up someone’s chiquane on a journey from hell.

Loud snoring like that is a sign of sleep apnea.

My wife developed it. Before her C-Pap, ear plugs were a neccessity.
It’s probibly killing them slowly in their sleep, and they don’t even know it.

That is, unless bunkmates kill them quickly.

Gosh, when I saw the title, I thought Sauron had managed invade my house and spend a fun-filled evening trying to sleep in the same bed as Dr.J. Well, he is a doctor, and my God does the man snore lots.

Cowgirl’s suggestion works, assuming you can make a sound the snorer can hear over their own breathing. Personally, I prefer a good stiff elbow to the ribs or a kick in the shins. Same effect, but more likely to relieve some of your frustration with not being able to get any sleeep.

I read the title as Snore-slots and wondered what in the world that meant.:smack:

Last year at fiddle camp I shared a room with 3 other women. One of them (the youngest, ironically) was a horrible snorer. If one of my roommates hadn’t had an extra pair of earplugs, I’d have been sleeping on the porch all week.

Glad you survived, Sauron!

I tried that with my husband. He sometimes snores when lying on his back - not terribly loud most of the time, but occasionally. (It seems to happen when he’s ill or very worn out.) Prodding him or lightly pinching his nose didn’t work well. He asked me to quietly say, “Stop snoring” and see if that worked, as apparently it works on me (or a similar “stop grinding your teeth” which I might do in my sleep when I’m super-stressed).

I had the chance to try it, and very quietly said “stop snoring.” His response was to wake up fully and go “huh? I was snoring?” and then take 15 minutes to get back to sleep. Sigh. Push on his arm, try to put my cold toes on his leg, pinch his nose lightly, nada. Say two words quietly and not only does he wake up completely, he understood what I said.

Couple of things…my beloved.

I don’t drink screwdrivers. I drink Sky Vodka with a twist of lime. :wink:

And I KNOW Michelle and I got all those G-strings up before you got home. I specifically remember telling her the G-strings couldn’t be left lying around the house.

Honestly, folks I have no sympathy for him. I was at home with an 18 month old who has pneumonia.

And he left out the part where my son came home apparently British. We don’t know how this happened but he left a little redneck boy from Alabama and came home with quite a good British accent.

Thank you for the kind words, folks.

lieu, I couldn’t remember if the stick, the snakebite kit and two marshmallows made earmuffs or a nuclear reactor a la MacGyver. However, since I didn’t have any marshmallows, the point was moot.

And pay no attention to my wife. That’s obviously still the screwdrivers talking.

Man! I didn’t realize Chippendales hired 'em so young!

Last July I went to a Buffy convention in Tampa. It promised to be a fun-filled 4 days of nothing but booze, gay sex, and James Marsters. I ended up rooming with three other people on Friday night (I was playing Musical Rooms because I got my con tickets so late).

“I just want to apologize now. I snore, really bad.”

I thought “how bad could it be?!”

I didn’t get any sleep that night. sigh I don’t want to say it ruined my whole weekend, but the next night when everybody was down at the pool at 11:30 drinking with Andy Hallet (Lorne) and James Leary (Clem), I was up in my room (I changed rooms again) passed out.

Of course, the other two people weren’t so lucky, and had to spend the rest of the weekend with her…one girl ended up sleeping in the bathtub every night.

Adds to list of “Words that Sound Filthy but Aren’t.”

Ah, yes, the home wine-making course. I got one of those, once, and the rest of that day is kind of a blur.

Garrote. What a wonderful word!

Egad. I’ll be staying in a COED cabin. I need to get better earplugs!

As for garrote…I bet somebody will have something I could use in an emergency, but I’m not sure how well people would react to having an actual assassin in their midst. :smiley:

Did you find my G-String? It’s the one with the Zebra print. (obviously)