It's a Lovely Room of Death

1/25/09
Phnom Penh, Cambodia

So...Cambodia is trying to kill me. Okay, that might be a bit of an overreaction. To be fair I can't be certain that it is actively trying to off me as I'm only privy to one attempt...but that's enough right?

So there I was, sprawled out bare ass naked across my luxurious double bed, fast asleep folded in my blanket of humid muggy night, when BOOM! CRACK! SHATTER! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! (gotta love the onomatopoeia) and I was somewhat awake, but definitely upright. I'm not sure if I actually said "I didn't do it!" but I certainly remember thinking it loudly enough. I fumble for the switch and click on the florescent tube on the opposite wall. My first panicked thought was regarding my camera, but I quickly spotted it secured where I left it. It only took me a split second after that wave of relief subsided to notice the shards of plastic and metal scattered across my body. "What the...?" I follow the bigger pieces off the bedspread and find the intended weapon of my demise battered on the floor. The ginormous overhead fan that had been making that awful screeching noise and now disintegrated. Apparently it had been less of a squeal and more of a death rattle. It takes me a second to fully comprehend how bad that could have sucked if I had been two feet over on the other side of the bed. Note: for those of you who doubt that it matters what side you sleep on but you have an instinctual preference anyway...just go with it. It might be the key to adverting catastrophe.

So, naturally, I pack up my shit, get some clothes on and wait patiently for someone to pay for Internet time at the front desk. Even though I know he won't understand I couldn't resist saying "Hi, yes, um, my room tried to kill me." Expectantly greeted by his perplexed look I then rephrase my story, utilizing props and wild gestures to act out the scenario. He just sits there, unimpressed like I was complaining about the cold water or some stupid falang shit like that. No, no, no. Not overreacting about missing luxuries- appliances trying to kill me! Big difference. Still, he says "tomorrow. Fix tomorrow." I counter with "New room?" only to be rebutted with "No. Chinese New Year. Full." Of course...damn Asian holidays. I ask if other hotels have rooms. He says no, but I go around and check anyway. Yup, sure enough, SOL. I fins one for three dollars, but it wasn't even remotely worth it. So, dejected I come back to the hotel and settle for demanding a new fan. "Tomorrow." "Tonight? Please?" I have to admit I smiled a lot, knowing he had a little bit of a crush on me. He smiles back, "Okay, wait." He disappears behind the door into the restaurant next door and returns triumphantly with a nice, safe standing fan. "Ahp Khun, Ahp Khun!" I thank him enthusiastically and trudge up the stairs to my room.

Lying in bed, the thought occurs to me: 'Should I be worried about visiting the Killing Fields tomorrow?' After all, if there was ever a place for this country to do me in, the aptly named massacre site would be a rather fitting and poetic place to do it.

I glare warily at the bright red fan at the end of my bed and position it facing away from me, just in case. Who knows, it might launch it's front spokes in a projectile attack when I'm sleeping. Not that paranoid a thought considering the last one staged an airborne assault. I brush off the remaining fragments of it's predecessor and resume sprawling. "Goodnight, Evil Room of Death.