Lights, Camera, Action!

Following the dinner on our first night aboard ship, I return to my cabin where I discover a new form of entertainment: the light switch puzzle. The entire suite is riddled with switches, all operating different combinations of lights. The one by the cabin door controls the hall, ceiling, and bedside lights, while another one at the other end of the hall powers the bedside and sitting area lights. A switch next to the bed commands the hall, ceiling, and bedside lights as well as the fancy hanging lanterns. The switch in the sitting area operates the hanging lanterns and the light by the sofa. The bathroom switch gives life to the hall and sofa lights as well as to the obvious bathroom lights which, in turn, are also controlled by a switch behind the sofa—it took me awhile and some effort to find that one. 

There’s also the mystery switch. It lives in the closet, at the back. After flicking it on and off a few dozen times, I’ve yet to discover what it controls. It certainly doesn’t affect any light fixture in and around the cabin. Nor does it power any of the electrical outlets in the bedroom, sitting area, or bathroom. I know because I’ve tried them all. Of course, it’s always possible that I’ve missed one, possibly hidden behind the toilet or under the bed. Hey, if there’s a light switch behind the sofa, it’s not so farfetched to have an outlet under the bed.

The mystery switch will have to remain an enigma. It would be rather funny if it turned out to be the master control for the lights on the ship’s bridge, which is right next door. I can just picture the captain pounding his fist against the steering wheel and exclaiming “Dang! She found the closet switch,” as the bridge lights flash on and off.

Bridge illumination aside, turning lights on is very easy, turning them all off is a brain teaser worthy of Mensa. Flicking one switch, two lights shut off, one comes on. Turning that light off, another three ignite. After twenty minutes of crutching around the room, lights blinking and me cursing, I decipher the code. Starting with a blazing cabin, it takes no less than five switches, thrown in precise sequence, to obtain total darkness. It stands to reason that the clown responsible for designing the electrical layout of the cabin would also ensure that each switch in the series is located as far away as possible from its predecessor. 

The best part of the game is that the last switch in the sequence is situated in the sitting area. This means that I now have to make my way to the bed in the dark, without smashing into bulkheads or obtrusive pieces of furniture which, I swear, were not there when the lights were on. 

I vow not to touch another light switch for the remainder of the cruise. And this holds true until later that first night, when I narrowly escape cementing crucial components of my anatomy together.