The Battle of the Light Switch

We are staying in a hotel room for a few days. The room is nominally a suite. When you first walk in the door, if you don’t turn sharply left, you’ll run into the little kitchenette: mini-fridge, microwave, sink, coffee maker. After turning left, you enter the main room. There’s a couch along the left wall, a small desk and windows along the next, and two queen beds on the third. The fourth wall has a little alcove and a TV. The alcove has a sink at the back, a closet to the right, and the bathroom (shower and toilet) to the left, with a door – making it the only true additional room in the suite.

This room has a quirk. There’s a motion sensor light for the bathroom. You might initially think that’s handy. Get up in the middle of the night, it’ll light up for you as you get close. But there’s a few problems with it.

First, in the hypothetical middle of the night scenario, if you are particularly considerate of your roommates, you might want to wait until you are in the bathroom with the door closed before turning on the light, so as not to disturb them. Can’t happen in this room.

The bigger problem has to do with where the sensor is located. It’s not in the bathroom. It’s out in the alcove, next to the bathroom door. The first morning, as I took my shower, which included a thorough leg shaving, the light went off. I waved my arm out of the shower, not yet knowing where the trigger was. That didn’t work. I actually had to open the door to get the light back on. Not all that convenient when there’s shampoo running down into your eyes.

Not only is the location a problem, but so is the sensitivity. We both rolled over at the same time early this morning. Guess what? Yep. The bathroom light flicked on. See, that closet door across from the bathroom? It’s mirrored. That’s why opening the bathroom door was enough to get the light back on during my shower despite the door opening in and being on the same wall as the light sensor – the mirror reflected the movement. Our bed is also across from the mirror. So as the light in the room became less than pitch black, it was able to reflect our movement on the bed and trip the light.

There is a button you can press to force the light off but that’s apparently only temporary. I pressed it last night so I didn’t have to wait for the timeout to get a dark room for sleeping in. That didn’t keep it from turning back on when we rolled over this morning.

The sensor looks a lot like the ones at work, which I know can be programmed by certain patterns of pushing the button, but I don’t know the programming and I’m not sure the hotel would appreciate my modifications.

I guess a little tape over the sensor at night might do the trick. Some duct tape? We are at Destination Imagination Global Finals after all. Or, wait, like all DI folks, I should probably revisit my solution for improvements. Maybe I should just shut the bathroom door at night. Then it can turn on and off all it wants and I can still sleep in the dark. And wake my family up before I shower so their movement can keep the light on for me in the morning. Maybe that’ll work.

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Comfort Food

When I was young, I liked to lie in my mom’s lap, with my head rested on her chest, and listen to her talk. I liked how her voice reverberated through her chest. I liked the warmth and feeling her heart beat under my face. I liked being the only person experiencing her voice and her touch in that way at that moment. These are intensely pleasurable memories. Comfort food for the soul.

Last night, I stepped up to my six foot tall son as he put his PS4 controller away after another epic round of Fortnite. When I reached out for a hug, he hugged back and didn’t quickly let go.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and nestled my head against his chest. He continued talking to his dad about the game. I marveled at how his deep voice reverberated through his chest. I soaked in the warmth. I felt his heart beat near my face. I could have stood there forever. I cherished being the only person he calls mom. The only person who gets this particular hug.

I don’t see my mom as often as I’d like and I never rest in her lap with my head on her chest anymore. But I get a good taste of that old comfort every time we hug. And now I can get a similar sensation with my son. Comfort food for the soul.