Asleep on the couch, a glorious Sunday afternoon nap to be followed by a socially-distant cookout at the Wald’s place a few blocks over. It doesn’t get a whole lot better, especially during the stress and strain of the pandemic.
I was drifting off into that nice in-between place just before the deep sleep kicks in when I heard a distant buzzing. Maybe a fly had slipped inside. It wasn’t exactly peak season for house flies, but whatever it was, it could wait. When I got up I would tackle the pest it if still insisted on visiting.
No sooner had I worked my way past that low-level hum when I felt a slight breeze tickle my nose. Maybe Terri left the door to the patio open in the other room. Again, something I’d deal with later, after the nap.
I was pleased with myself for putting the distractions aside and focusing on getting some well deserved rest. But that hum, and the breeze, just wouldn’t quit. And now my relaxed state was slowly dissipating. I’d give the whole mess another minute or so before taking action if need be. No reason to rush off the couch, after all.
A few moments passed and the buzz persisted, so did the gentle breeze. It was decision time. I had to nip this before it drained me of my enthusiasm for napping.
I sighed in frustration, opened my eyes, then screamed.
“What the hell?” I yelled, falling sideways off the couch.
On the way to the floor I dented my cranium on the corner of the coffee table. My peaceful state was out the door, and on the way to someone else’s house.
“Owww,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead.
Then I looked up and saw the damn thing again. Right there hovering over me was my tormentor. It was a flat, black object with a little thingamajig sticking out of the bottom.
“What on earth…?” I yelled, hoping to disrupt the afternoon for everyone else since mine was ruined.
I stood and swung wildly at the object , a big right hand swipe. It was mistake number one. Always lead with the left I had been told. The damn thing was just out of reach. I jumped up, well not really much of a jump, more like a hop, and shot a left jab at the thing. Again, it rose up an inch or two and out of reach.
At the moment I looked just like what I was: an older, out of shape guy boxing the clouds. But dammit, I’d get this thing yet. And when I did, I’d smash it into little pieces, and maybe even clean up the mess.
I looked around for some way to elevate, I just needed to get a little higher. The coffee table looked inviting. I did a little half-jump onto the edge of the table, just enough to give me some leverage and propel me higher.
If I had given the move a second of thought it would not have been attempted.
My stocking feet hit the shiny steel edge of the table and down I went, cracking my shins on that edge. The pain shot up my legs like an electrical current, and I flopped around on the floor in pain.
“Owwwwwwwwwwwww,” I screamed, possibly loud enough to get a neighbor to call 911. It was definitely loud enough to get Terri to come racing into the room.
She found me in a semi-fetal position grabbing my shins, and moaning about my head. It was a lot to take in, but she processes things quickly and promptly started to laugh. She quickly caught herself, and pretended to be concerned.
“What on earth happened?” she asked.
I tried to explain but it came out as gibberish, a series of syllables, grunts and moans with an occasional pointing at the ceiling.
“Up there…oww…shin…head…flying…nap…”
“You were taking a shin head flying nap?” she asked, deciding the best strategy was to mock me.
“And why are grabbing your shins, but saying your head hurts?” she asked. The obvious question was always best asked first. It often times helped things fall into place.
Terri helped me up, and I wobbled over and and collapsed onto the couch and looked around.
“Where is it? It was here, I swear it was here,” I said.
“What was here, honey?” Terri asked, speaking to me in the childlike tone you’d use with a crazy person you were trying to keep calm.
“The thing. The flying thing. It was…it was tormenting me. Teasing me.”
“The flying thing?” Terri asked. “Ohhh, do you mean the drone?”
“The…the drone?” I asked, weakly. “There’s a drone in…indoors?”
Terri rubbed my forehead and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I thought one of the kids might have mentioned it to you. I bought us one of those new indoor security drones. It must have been making the rounds.”
“Rounds? In the house?”
“Yes, that’s where indoor drones fly, honey,” she said. “Maybe I didn’t program it properly and it went on an unscheduled flight.”
I sat back and rubbed the golf ball-sized lump on my head. “It had some sort of tail, or something hanging down,” I said.
“That’s the camera,” she said.
“So…so, someone could actually see what just happened?”
“Theoretically, yes.”
We sat there for a few minutes, me nursing my injuries, and Terri feeling badly about the intrusion of the drone into our nice quiet afternoon.
When I regained my composure, and dignity, I asked, “And why do we need this…this intrusion?”
“I thought it would make the house safer,” she said.
“So far it hasn’t for me,” I said.