Sleep City

Fads sort of creep up on me. I’ll be at home, say, or that is to say, I’ll be in the cavernous space that used to hold the PCPP offices but now just holds me and the empty husks of the last few interns… uh… yeah, I’ll be at home, and suddenly the Guerrilla Gamer will burst in, eyes rolling, and tell me about this awesome new sleep program he’s on.

“Sleep program?” sez I, because I’ve never heard of such a thing.

“Hell yeah,” sez the Guerrilla Gamer, slumping down on one of my growing collection of old couches. He uncaps the single Bacardi Breezer he’s brought along. It’s Sunday afternoon. “The old ways man, the old monophasic sleep pattern man, it’s dead. Dead and buried. And dead.”

“Right,” I say. “Still not with you.”

The Guerrilla Gamer leans forward. “Okay so, get this. Biologically, humans are designed to have a biphasic sleep pattern, right? A big sleep at night, and then a smaller sleep of an hour or two in the middle of the day or after lunch.”

“Like a siesta?” I ask.

“Exactly. So all those South Americans, they aren’t lazy, they’re just smarter. Work in the morning, have a sleep, work in the afternoon, crash at night.”

I nod, but the conversation is already boring. “So you’re having a siesta now. Big deal.”

“No no,” says the Guerrilla Gamer. “That’s the biphasic model. I’m on the POLYPHASIC model. You know what that means?”

“You sleep with birds?”

“Hilarious. No, it means I use the Uberman Cycle. Uberman, man. It’s not Nazi propaganda, it’s real. You want me to explain it?”

He’s sitting between me and the door, so I say, “Okay.”

“Forget big blocks of sleep. I sleep for 20 minutes, six times a day. It essentially fools my system into giving me two solid hours of REM sleep to cleanse my brain of toxins and byproducts, and then I’m fresh as a daisy!” He pauses to pick some old egg yolk off his Atom Boy T-shirt. At least, I hope it’s egg yolk.

“And you know what this means?” he continues. I shake my head. “It means I’m awake for 22 hours a day! Twenty-two blissful hours of gaming a day! That’s an extra six hours over the regular 16 hour wake cycle, which equals 91.25 extra DAYS a YEAR. That’s THREE EXTRA MONTHS! Of being awake! Every year!”

I nod and shrug, and then I shrug and nod.

“Sounds great,” I say. “But I mean, what do you do with all that time?”

“I grind man! I grind levels in WOW, in EVE, in Aion, in every damn thing! And I still have time to work two jobs and write my awesome column. I’ve never been richer or had more alts with epic loot!”

“But surely,” I say. “Surely no one can live on two hours of sleep a day, broken into six 20 minute naps. There must be side effects?”

The Guerrilla Gamer slumps back on the couch in an air of fuggy smugness. “Not even one, ANDROID PARACHUTE KNICKERS!!” He flings himself on his side and thrashes around for a bit, froths at the mouth, and then passes out.

I head over to the stack of obsolete AV gear to turn up the radio to cover his snores, when Cmos collapses through the door.

“Oh God,” he says. “You have to help me dude. It’s him. It’s all of them. They’ve got me on this sleep thing, this Uberman thing.” Cmos’ eyes are even more red-rimmed and bloodshot than normal. “It’s killing me. I just want to sleep!”

“Then sleep,” I say. “What’s stopping you?”

“You don’t understand, it took me two weeks to get on the Uberman! If I fall off the nap wagon, I’m back to being a slave of the monophase!”

“You should have gone on the Everyman then,” says our rich friend Silver, strolling in behind Cmos. He’s clearly not in as bad shape, but I know a bone-tired surfie dude when I see one. His eyebags have bags. Silver turns to me. “Everyman is three 30 minute naps a day, but then a core three-hour sleep period at night. I nap at 0600h, 1230h and 1730h. Then sleep at 2300h.”

He pauses. A single tear rolls down his cheek. “Oh God I wish it was 2300h right now.”

I nod to both of them, and show them gently to spare couches. I have about fifteen now. The place is starting to look a bit like a showroom, except for the stains and the semi-conscious gamer types passed out on them.

“FRACTURED ELEPHANT TINCTURE!” screams the Guerrilla Gamer, turns over viciously, and starts snoring again.

Naturally, this is the point where Victor Ninox, my crazy ex-third flatmate, wafts in. He’s dressed in a loose-fitting kaftan, very 1970s. His hair is washed and loosely braided. His beard is clean. He looks incredibly serene.

“Let me guess,” I say, “you’re on a new sleep program?”

“Dude! How did you know?” Vic asks. “Oh right, everyone’s doing it. I’ve invented my own, but. I call it the Megaman. It’s based on 50 minute naps. I take twenty-three 50 minute naps a day. Been on it for two weeks, and mum kicked me out of the house. Again. Hey… can I borrow one of your couches? Because it’s time for my nap.”

And that’s when Cmos crash-tackles him.