The local rep for Maharaji in my town hosted the weekly satellite network broadcasts for interested people. At about 2:57 sharp on Sunday afternoons, we would appear at her doorstep to un-shoe and shuffle into her living room for the 3:00 pm broadcast.

To be fair, for most of the broadcasts, I stayed fully awake. But, for a few, the darkened room, the comfortable chair, the chirping birds outside, and the incessant, mindless droning of Rawat's voice gave way to the most luxurious, sinister of naps. To show up at a perfect stranger's doorstep, be led into her tidy upper middle class living room and promptly fall asleep was one of the most both deliciously relaxing and painfully embarassing experiences in recent memory.

One particular Sunday afternoon, we arrived late (2:59) and, upon being quickly ushered into the living room,  I plunged into my favored chair, an older, wide-style, American-made, tilt-back job designed with enough fluffy foam to accept, submerge, and drown the troubles of any three-hundred pound factory union worker. Indeed, Laz-y-Boy and the United Auto Workers of America must have conspired in the creation of that chair's underbody suspension.  The only thing it lacked was anti-rollover, as I soon discovered.

The Elan Vital rep and my wife unknowingly admired my choice of sitting in the front row each week. But, the chair, with it's textured, woven fabric and pliable yet firm cushions had sold me from my first thunderous thunk of its footrest crank. As Maharaji began to wind down another hour-long session, my mind wandered and my tilted body relaxed.

Still trying to keep up appearances, a tingling sensation pricked my cheek and disturbed my gentle, sonorous sleep. My hand unconsciously attempted to locate the source, and, gradually reaching my face, my fingers interrupted a dribbling stream of saliva, which was about to careen off my cheek and drip onto the chair. In the heat of the moment, I shot up out of my cocoon to re-assess any damage at hand.  

But, in jumping out of my seat, the chair's shock absorbers couldn't withstand the lateral pressure, and the chair's underbody suspension made the kind of screeching sound a non-automatic car makes when the driver forces the shifter into reverse without depressing the clutch.

The screeching sound, my snoring, and my blocking the view of the television nearly got me banned from returning to her house. But, thanks to the pleadings of my wife, I was allowed to re-appear the following week.  Feeling meek and cowed, it was relieving to find another person occuppying my favorite chair, and I gladly selected a less comfortable seat on the sofa.