Sleepless in Mazatlan

3:00 a.m. … It was bound to happen sooner or later. At first I thought it was the maintenance guys working on something in the building. I stagger out my door and into the open corridor. Nothing. Oh…there it is again. The racket seems to be coming from the room next door, so I move back inside. The sound of rustling of paper. Muffled voices. Laughing. The screech of metal on tile. I put my ear against the wall. Yes, the noise is coming from the adjacent room. I quietly open my half of the two-door entry into the next room, praying the “noisy ones” don’t have theirs open. I look down. There’s light shining through beneath the door. The noise intensifies. I put my ear lightly to the door. I can now hear what sounds like “ingles”. Probably Americans or Canadians loudly talking and shuffling “things” about. It’s now 3:15. I’m thinking, “This is pretty rude.”

This is not party noise. The voices seem to be coming from “white hairs”; I’m guessing couples trying to communicate with one another after suffering years of environmental hearing loss. Curiously, this aggravates me more than, the rare at Emerald Bay, late night, twenty-something partiers.

It’s 3:30. I commit to patience and understanding. After all, these are “my people”. I must demonstrate some tolerance. There must be an “explanation” for this behavior, right? The noise continues, sometimes getting so loud that I can easily understand what the four are saying to each other, while sitting at the table in the middle of my room. The voices are amplified by the otherwise, natural quiet that surrounds me.

3:45. I’m letting this get to me. “Should I call the front desk and complain? No, I’ll wait it out a little longer”. I rationalize my decision by telling myself, “A little lost sleep here is no big deal. You can just take a siesta tomorrow Relax, amigo.”

4:00. The “noisy ones” are not holding back … at all. Voices loudly calling, echoing in the emptiness of a far too large Master Suite. End of my rope. The self-talk and ignoring isn’t holding up. I quietly open my room door, block it from closing with the deadbolt, and creep down the hallway to my left. I visually check the room number … 1849. I approach the door and raise my right hand in a fist, ready to knock, then back away. I slink away quietly and reenter my room, shutting the door quietly behind me.

4:05. More racket. They are really banging things around now. I’ve had it. I pick up the phone, and dial …1…8 … 4… 9. I hear the sweet sound of ringing next door. All other noises suddenly vanish. I’m feeling … “the rush”. After four or five rings, a female voice answers, “Yes?” I respond with a polite, but firm, “Good morning. This is your next door neighbor. I’m trying to get a little sleep over here. You folks have had me up since 3:00. This is mildly annoying. I’m offering you the opportunity to shut it down, before I call the front desk.” The voice answers, “Sorry. We’re leaving.” I respond with a final, tired and disgusted, “Safe travels.”, and hang up.

4:10. The racket fades into the darkness of morning within seconds. Satisfaction. It’s very quiet now. Have they left, sheepishly sneaking away to finish their packing, yakking, and clamoring about, far away from me and the other “sleepers”? Or, are they cowering in their room, afraid to move or make a peep? Just the muted sound of the waves hitting the beach now. This is how it should be.

So, it’s now 5:18. I’m still “very awake” and “entertaining” myself with coffee, writing, and my thoughts. Apparently, my neighbors have left while in Stealth mode. You would think they could’ve packed up their crap last evening? Ugly Norte Americanos! I’m so proud.