dorm room encounters
We don’t usually book dorm rooms, specially if it will be just me and Monette on the road. We’d rather have our own little space with private bathroom where we can take our time singing Love on Top covers in the shower.
But hey, we’ve met interesting people in dorm rooms in the past and we are still friends to this date. That is if you’d consider “liking” instagram photos as form of friendship then we have more than plenty of dorm room success stories.
On the other hand, we got a fair share of dorm horror tales ranging from funny to just plain repulsive.
NAKED DUTCH BOY
Monette carefully slid open the room door trying not to make a noise, at 3 in the wee hours everyone should be in deep slumber. A step and a half in, Monette jumped back with a restrained squeak.
“There’s a guy—“
“Of course there’s a guy, we booked a mixed dorm”
The guy was sleeping face up with his knob greeting us like a half masked flag waving “Selamat Datang!”
Before the dawn broke to daylight, the guy magically had something on. I thought our laughter restraining abdominal exercise was over until we saw it. Right behind his Calvin Klein chonies, there’s a stain, a meaty smear line, a SKID MARK!
Lesson learned: If you’re a backpacker, learn how to wash your undies properly. Or at least properly wipe your bunghole to the rim. Else, recycle those airport brochures and use as layers for butt and crotch guard.
I reached my Hostel in Lu Wan district with no prior reservation. Under the warm halogen lights was my temporary refuge while the Blue Mountain Youth Hostel receptionist checked the computer for an available bed space. At CNY 60 (PhP 400) She gave me the key to the last available bed and I sprinted to my dorm unit and opened the door…
Voila, five exchange students from London with ages ranging from 17 to 17-ish were sitting in a circle with all eyes on me.
“Ni hao… Ni jiao shen ma ming zi?”
“Bitch! I know how to speak english!”
Katie, Bandon, Desmond, Hugh and Laura introduced themselves and officially welcomed me to their so called “House of Master Wang.” A group of hormone driven kids with retarded developmental process were apparently there on the last few weeks of their cultural exchange program, which I reluctantly believed because of the presence of two-day old KFC boxes, McDonald’s Fries and strong british accent flying in all directions–It was more like a Gryffindor house gone wrong.
“Alright, Ronnie… as part of the house tradition, we will baptize you with your underground chinese name…”
“…you will now be known by the name–NOODLES”
“Any message Noodles?”
“err… God help me?”
I stayed there for 4 nights, I will leave it to your imagination on how I survived.
He entered the room with a non-chalant greeting, shook my hand while he was flipping his long blonde hair to his back. I called him Thor because of his beefy built, long lashes, bluish gray eyes and bouncy locks.
It was an uneventful cohabitation, until one morning when he was in bathroom. He pulled his toothbrush and took my small box of soap.
“Is this yours?”
“You haven’t used it yet, right?”
“Not yet (Actually I did)”
He rubbed the bristles and used it as toothpaste substitute. I shut my mouth and stormed out the room, because if I reacted and told him that he just licked my armpits, his biceps might wring my neck before I could even sceam for help.
What just happened there? Your guess is as good as mine.
I am the best person to put in a group of snoring travelers, I have high threshold to noise, not an issue. At 110 decibels, I can still sleep deeply like a drunk divorcee.
It was a dorm full of American-Korean students. On top of my bunk, I can hear and feel the dude literally conduct sound waves as the steel bed frame vibrates with his moonlight nocturne.
It started with a humming sound like an intermittent vacuum cleaner, it increased to fortissimo until it reached the grand chorus bordering to a growl. Then he occasionally choke to his own obstructive apnea, then he will complain “Who’s that? Please guys, I want to sleep.” Repeat coda.
It was alright, until the sensory experience crossed my maximum tolerance. The symphony was accompanied with another sound with a matching olfactory dimension. That was it, I slept in the recreation room together with the rest of his classmates who evacuated earlier on.
It was a room meant for three people, but when I arrived, there was just one guy checked-in. A full bearded man in his early thirtees was sitting on the window niche. At first he appeared normal, until he started playing with his own beard and putting it into his mouth.
You see, men with beard are beautiful. Like a prancing Himalayan tahr. Well this one is a fucking walrus and the least thing he can do to compensate is to act primly.
I greeted him “Hi, ‘zup?” and he replied with a homoerotic undertone “High?”
I knew it. It scared the crap out of me that he may possibly be that psycho character in a thriller flick who will tie me up and perform nail avulsion using his teeth.
In the middle of the night I woke up with his face few inches away from mine. Before I even started begging him to spare my life, he worriedly blurted “Sorry man, I was sneaking for the bottle of water on your headboard. I am already sober and I feel so exhausted.”
You have no idea how relived I felt that he was not aiming to slash my carotid artery or about to pin me to my bed and sodomize me. But I knew I will be dying of heart attack if I stay for another night. So the next morning I packed my bags, booked an uber expensive executive room and swiped my card with my eyes closed.