[If you’re new here, 1. welcome, friend, 2. get yourself up to speed by going back to Day 1 where I explain why I’m playing 101 levels of Donkey Kong in 101 days.]

The overheated lobby of the Holiday Inn Express at three in the morning smelled like a ghost had just finished smoking a cigarette then promptly peeled and enjoyed a mandarin orange afterward. Now that I think about it, that’s one more descriptor I’d like to see in advertisements for hotels: “clean,” “simple,” “no bulls***,” “you will not get bedbugs,” and “no cigarette-smoking, orange-eating ghosts live here.”

I gave the tired eyed woman behind the front desk my credit card, then took the elevator up to the second floor to my room. By the smell of things, the cigarette-smoking ghost had apparently been haunting up here as well, despite the fact that there was a large no-smoking sign prominently displayed on my door.

Ashtray smells aside, my instincts about the Holiday Inn Express being the place for me were spot-on. The room was not too bad at all. The bathroom was spacious. (See the photo to the left? That’s the actual bathroom. I snapped a photo of it with my phone. Why? Who knows why I do half the things I do.) I adjusted the temperature to my liking, then closed the curtains (I had a view of the New York State Thruway as well as several wind-blown fields). I got into bed, put my medicinal eyedrops into my eyes, and shut out the light.

The sheets were cool and clean. Whenever I get into a hotel room bed, to this day I always think of the time that I stayed at a fleabag motel in Florida a couple decades ago. I was much younger then, and still foolishly romanticized fleabag hotels. When I peeled back the sheets that night, I found a small collection toenail clippings at the foot of the bed. Yes, I said, “a small collection of toenail clippings.”

The other thing that I remember about that motel is that it had an in-ground swimming pool that was closed indefinitely because, according to the sign hanging from the gate, there was broken glass on the bottom of it. The sleepless night that I spent curled up on that bed as far away as possible from the pile of toenail clippings forever turned me into a Starwoods Point-collecting snob. These days, as a rule, I will always spend the extra money to stay at the nicer places, and I’m glad to do so.

I felt reasonably safe here. I wondered if anyone else was staying in the hotel that night, wondered if I might have the whole place to myself. I thought about the banks of rooms around me, all potentially empty and unoccupied, all those still-made beds and black TV screens. I creeped myself out a little, something that I apparently enjoy doing because I do it to myself quite often.

Then I heard a faint cough through the headboard wall. I wasn’t alone after all. There were other people here, most likely holidays travelers who were, like me, between places tonight. I closed my eyes, thinking about how the sun would be up in a few short hours, wondering, quite seriously, if I’d be able to sleep at all.

Suddenly, the sun was up. It was eight in the morning. I’d been sound asleep for five solid hours. Eighteen-wheelers on the Thruway were roaring past my hotel room window. My cellphone was ringing. It was my mother. She asked me where I was. I told her. “Get out of bed and get moving,” she said, “because your father is already on his way.”

If you’ve ever wondered how to solve level 2-7, a.k.a. level 19, of Donkey Kong (Game Boy, 1994), you have definitely come to the right place, folks. The main attraction here is a group of bugs–two ladybugs and two rhino-like beetles specifically–which are patrolling/swarming a long, skinny, two-tiered central platform, the lower tier of which is made up of dangerous triangles. When I pull the lever on the very bottom of the level, a long bridge extends along the upper tier, making it possible for Mario to traverse the triangle mote below. Pulling the lever also causes a shutter to open, connecting the two-tiered central platform with the upper reaches of the level, a.k.a exactly where I need to be.

If all of this sounds confusing, I apologize in advance. This is the trickiest, vaguest level I’ve encountered in the game so far.

What I need to do is strand one of the two ladybugs–specifically, the one which is moving clockwise–on the small island platform where the shutter door opens and closes. Once the clockwise-moving ladybug is in place on this island platform, I hit the lever one final time, which extends the bridge (which will allow Mario to cross the mote), but also retracts the shutter, turning the clockwise ladybug into a kind of elevator for me.

Still with me?

Once I cross the extended bridge, I take the makeshift ladybug elevator up. Next stop: hats, coats, and ladies’ lingerie.

And yes, I just used the term “makeshift ladybug elevator.” Yes, that’s another bucket-list item that I can cross off, people.

Once I am at the highest point of the level, I leap to the left, then guide Mario downwards–stay with me–through a series of push me-pull me conveyer belts. I duck once I’m on the conveyer belts–hold down on the D-pad to make Mario crouch–to avoid hitting my head on the triangle-shaped spikes that are hanging from the ceiling above. I’m telling you, I’ve seen those things rip gray/green heads clean off a Mario.

The conveyer belt carries me to the ladder on the far left side of the level, which is right next to the locked door. The key, unfortunately, is at the top of the ladder. I climb the ladder, toss the key into the maze of conveyer belts (B button), and as it rides its way down, I very quickly climb down the ladder.

The key and I meet in front of the locked door at the exact same moment. Key goes into the lock, and I get to leave this pain in my ass level behind.