London Chronicles: Naked

As you may have garnered from previous posts, I’m not super comfortable with seeing other people’s skin outside of a pool/beach scenario. However the universe seems to be trying to desensitize me with my various run-ins whilst in Spain be it with a host family, top-less beaches, or advertising. The universe apparently dissatisfied with my progress has now thrown London into the mix as well. So here are three stories for you.

#1

After staying in various hostels, especially in mixed rooms, I've learned the wisdom of a sleep mask and earplugs. Unfortunately that wisdom doesn't get you too far if your earplugs fall out. So I found myself being woken up to the rhonchus sounds from across the room. Only the source wasn't across the room, he was in the middle of the floor. At first I was just confused how anyone could be sleeping while sitting up. How do you not just slump over if you don’t have any support? But my confusion was interrupted to my horror when I noticed in the  moonlight said guy was not wearing a shirt or pants, only this itty-bitty thin tight speedo-esque underwear. And my only thought for a moment was OH DEAR LORD NO! I quickly pulled my mask down and tried to expulse the blighted image from my mind. My inner monologue ranted angrily, This is not your home! This is a mixed room! You are not free to roam about in just your knickers. I don’t know you, we are not friends. I don’t want to see a stranger’s junk!!! Then as if he heard my angry musings, the snoring stopped and I heard his unsteady attempts to get up.  Ah, he was drunk. It made more sense, but then another shot of panic coursed through my body. 

My room reenactment 

The possibilities of the moment started piling up as he made a bumbling attempt to stand. Please don’t throw up on the floor. Please don’t mistake the trashcan as for a toilet, as I had heard happened the night before, and please don’t mistake my bed for yours.  I relapsed into the child mindset of “if I can’t see him he can’t see me,” squeezed my eyes shut, and held my breath as I listened. Victory! He’s climbing up another bunk’s ladder. Crisis averted.  I had lowered my guards, when I heard a shouted whisper, “DUDE WRONG BED.”  OMG Laughter built up in my chest. “DUDE THIS ISN'T YOUR BED”  I peeked from under my sleeping mask to watch the drama unfold.  Drunk guy was balancing on the ladder grabbing at the mattress to pull himself up. The occupant was redirecting him to no avail. Drunk guy plopped down on the bed dazed and not comprehending his unwelcome arrival. I couldn't take it. I turned over and bit my hand to keep from laughing.  Finally the flustered occupant got his friend to leave and drunk guy managed to get into the right bed.  I quietly chuckled, my embarrassment and frustration dissipated, and fell back to sleep.  

#2

Second night: my ear plugs fell out again. This time I was brought out of slumber by a taptaptaptaptaptaptap on the door. However after a few bouts of insistent taps I realize it wasn't our door, it was across the hall.  Absolved from any responsibility I tried to nestle myself back to sleep. Yet just as I was on the brink of success, I heard him again: taptaptaptaptaptaptap taptaptaptaptaptaptap rattlerattle taptaptaptaptaptaptap. I wanted to scream into my pillow. No one was moving in my room and it seemed like no one was coming to this guy’s rescue. Again my inner monologue raged at the disturbance, The doors lock ya numbnut, you’re always supposed to have a key on you. Why can’t you just go downstairs and get a spare key. It’s your own fault for not bringing it with you. STOP TAPPING just freaking knock if you want someone to open the door. I reached my limit. I got up and I stuck my head out the door to tell him to cut it out, when again I was faced with a rather large shirtless, pantless, tiny underwear man. You've got to be kidding me. KEEP YOUR DAG FREAKING CLOTHES ON! Arrested for a moment, I finally manage to tell him to go downstairs to get help since no one had answered the door in the twenty minutes he’d been tapping.  He just looked at me and said, “oh” and walked away. REALLY. REALLY! TWENTY MINUTES AND IT NEVER OCCURRED TO YOU! Having eradicated the disturbance, I slipped back into my bunk jammed my earplugs in, and slept soundly until morning. I still don't get it though, I mean maybe he was embarrassed because he wasn't wearing any clothes and reception was three flights down. But again that’s your own dag-on fault if you choose to leave your room without clothes or a key. Or maybe he was just drunk. But hey sleep deprived Angela ain’t got time for your mess nor your unwelcome bodily exposure.

The Uncertainty of the Poet at Tate Modern

#3:

It’s my last day in London and technically I've not seen any nudity aside from the paintings from the National Gallery and Tate Modern, just a whole lot of  unwanted exposure from my hostelmates. So obviously the Universe need to make one last attempt.  Anyways I’m just walking down the street on my way to see Wicked at Victoria Palace Theatre.  You know I’m looking around taking in all the buildings and the area, excited to see the show when something catches my eye. I think, Hmm, that’s weird; a puddle is forming near that telephone booth. I wonder why? Hindsight: ANGELA, NO! USE YOUR DEDUCTIVE SKILLS. YOU DON’T HAVE TO LOOK! Just think! Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it!  <SlowMo> DOOOONNNTTT DOOOOOO ITTTTT </Slowmo>. And then my eyes were burned. Aghast I jerked my gaze away. I did not need to see a homeless man’s genitalia. Nope. But there it was. I mean COME ON! Its broad daylight! This telephone booth was not an obscure corner or some back alley! IT WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK!!!  IT HAD SEE-THROUGH DOORS!!  I’m pretty sure the homeless guy’s buddy was laughing at me as I hurried away, but that could have been my imagination.

UNIVERSE STAHHHP. I've had enough of your sass -_-