Even though housekeeping cleans it every day, vacuums the floors, wipes down all the surfaces, and provides us with new sheets and blankets, something about the room just makes it feel dirty. All the time. You start itching if you spend more than thirty seconds in there, I swear.
It smells like body odor mixed with essence of skunk meets teenage boy basketball shorts. In summary, it smells. It smells absolutely nasty.
Since the dawn of time, none of the residents have ever slept in that call room. Besides, the call room doesn't have a computer, doesn't have a TV, doesn't even have a pillow. So we sleep in the residents' library instead. Because there's a giant comfy couch in there, computers galore, a TV and DVD player, and Season Three of The O.C. It really doesn't get much better than Misha Barton and Adam Brody. I mean, how can it, right? Look at them! And their snarky commentary about their overly dramatic teenage lives!
Granted, some of us don't sleep in the call room because some of us don't know where the call room actually is. [Side story: I was trying to get into my call room for a good fifteen minutes, wondering why my key wouldn't work, before my attending finally opened the door and asked me if I was at HIS call room because there was a patient to staff. Luckily there was, otherwise I would have had to pretend that I'm a sleepwalker or something. Seriously, so embarrassing.]
Anyhow, normally we sleep on this giant red couch in the library. But on the first night of night float, I came in, and on my would-be bed, there was a note instead:
So after trying to sleep on the table, or in a cubicle, I finally fashioned a bed out of chairs, and this is what I slept on for a good three days:
It wasn't the most comfortable, and I definitely fell on my butt one night when the chair rolled away and my body kerplunked onto the floor, but on night float, you start to take what you can get. And well, if five chairs was the only way I'd be able to sleep without waking up to bug bites all over, five chairs it would be.
