Several years ago my girlfriend told me never to buy her flowers for V-day. There is no better way to say “I love you” than to say “I will not extort vastly overpriced soon-to-be-dead-things out of you for the mere pleasure of my presence.” That was sweet of her. I think I’ll buy her a dozen roses next weekend. It will surprise her.
We also decided years ago not to celebrate holidays on their actual dates, but rather on the nearest convenient weekend. We get all the enjoyment out of the holidays with half the stress that way.
So we decided to make this past weekend our V-day celebration, and took a little trip away from home, at a romantic little motel up north. It’s a cozy little place with a fireplace and VCR and coffeemaker and bed stuffed with catnip. Perrrrfect.
Except money was tight, so we opted for the cheapest (smoking) room we could get. The most expensive was over $200/night, and we just couldn’t afford that. Well, we got there, and the room was a disappointment, to say the least. No VCR. No fireplace. No closet. The phone just barely worked (the “4” key stuck). And it was about the size of a matchbox. The ancient doors didn’t really close, the shower was the size of a pea, and generally, it sucked. But no matter, we would still have a good time. Our first night there was nice, if cramped. The next day we had a nice breakfast then did some shopping. We came home exhausted, then plopped onto the bed for a quick nap.
I was awoken about an hour later by knocking on the door of the unit next door. It was loud knocking, along with shouting of “Let me the fuck in!” I could also hear loud and obnoxious children shouting and banging on walls and slamming doors. “Terrific”, I thought. “We’re next door to the Bundys.” A bit later, there was more banging and shouting, between a man and a woman. Among the things I heard were “You fucking cunt!”, “Don’t call me a fucking cunt, you fucking pussy!”, “Put down the bottle!”, “Ouch!”, and “Waaaaaahhhhh!” OK, definite domestic violence, and somebody’s going to get killed. Not good.
I wasn’t sure what to do. Intervene? Probably not a great idea. Sit there and let it happen? Also not a great idea. My girlfriend woke up and came up with a brilliant plan: “Call the office.” Yeah, good. How do I get an outside line? No, wait, they’re inside. What’s the number? Oh no, there’s a “4” in it! What do I do? As if sensing my dilemma, my girlfriend said “Just dial 911.” Good plan. This whole time, the violence appeared to be escalating.
“Hello, 911? I’d like to report a domestic disturbance. The address? It’s the Bates Motel, 1020 Maple Street. Huh? We’re in unit eight. But the fight is in unit 7. Yeah. No. No, We’re in unit 8, but send the police to unit 7. No, I’m not hitting my wife. I’m reporting the people next door. What? Yeah, they’re here. I can see the squad car out my window. What? Stay on the line? OK.”
(Unbeknownst to me, between when I dialed 911 and when the cops arrived, the boyfriend had left.)
So the cops banged on our door. My girlfriend opened it. I was still on hold. The cop told my girlfriend to wait outside and told me to hang up the phone and stand up. Simultaneously, the 911 operator came back on the line and asked me if the police had arrived yet. I wasn’t sure whether to answer her or to submit myself for arrest. Thank Og for my girlfriend who quickly explained that no, it wasn’t us, it was the people next door.
The cop went next door to talk to the woman.
I’m not sure what the story was, but from the snippets we heard from her through the wall:
-He didn’t hit me, honest.
-I didn’t hit him, honest.
-He’s a nice guy, honest.
-This is the first time he’s ever done anything like this.
-No, there were no drugs in the room.
-He just needed to cool off. He went to a bar.
-No, I don’t have money to bail myself out of jail.
-My husband is in prison.
-I’m not going to keep my kids from seeing their father.
Make of that what you will. I can’t make much sense of it. Anyway, she was led away in cuffs, apparently on a warrent. The cop (one of many – at least 3 units responded) was very nice to us, and thanked us for calling them. After the cops left, the boyfriend showed up, then left in an awful hurry.
Anyway, all this left my girlfriend and me pretty shaken up. We did not want to spend the night there. My girlfriend was ready to just go home. So we decided to talk to the Inn’s owner and manager to see what they’d say. The were very polite and apologetic, and insisted that nothing like that had ever happened before. They were glad to put us in a different room, far away from where we were. At no additional cost to us, of course.
Unfortunately, the only smoking room they had was the handicapped room. Ramp entrance, a shower big enough you could play raquet ball in it, extra large bed, VCR, fireplace, the works.
We stayed.