Knock, Knock...Who's There?

If I get a rare night off from being a mom, I want to enjoy some adult time. I don’t mean I want to be hogtied with a ball gag or anything like that, but I do want to be able to say the F word freely and maybe have dinner at a restaurant that doesn’t serve chicken fingers. Anything beyond that is pretty much icing on the cake, as they say. When my friend TA planned a little overnight stay in Asheville, I was happy to join in and get a break at the same time. I convinced my friend MJS to come along, since she needs a night off more than anyone I know, what with her almost two year old terrorizing her daily. That shit gets old.

We didn’t have a set schedule other than a late dinner and possibly some fun activity afterwards, which was perfect because MJS and I could just chill and visit before we met up with TA and all the other ladies later that night. We had a tasty lunch, tried on a gazillion overpriced shoes, and stared at the many freaks on the streets (it’s Asheville, people; I’m not judging, just accurately describing) before we went back to our hotel for a pre-dinner nap.

After a snooze and a little reading, MJS got in the shower and I scanned the television channels until it was time to slap on some more makeup and change my clothes. About the time MJS turned off the shower, the fun began down the hall.

It started with a loud yell:  “AAAARRRHHHHH!”

Followed by: “GODDAMN, BITCH!”

Then the door pounding: BAM! BAM! BAM! “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

MJS peeked her head out of the bathroom and looked at me.

“OPEN THE DOOR, BITCH! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

She went back in the bathroom and I stayed in my bed, listening. About this time I got a text from TA, who was not staying on our floor: Drinks in the lobby B4 dinner?

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!"

I texted back: Yes! MJS is in the shower and I am putting on a new face. This old one looks, well, old.

Outside our room, the door pounding continued. BAM! BAM! BAM! "OPEN THE MOTHERFUCKING DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR, BITCH! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"

I was glued to the bed, wondering what was going to happen. MJS popped out of the bathroom again, wrapped in a damp white towel, and pressed her eye up to the peephole.

“See anything?” I asked her.

“Redneck yelling,” she said.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

“She better not open that door,” I said.

Then variety, with less volume: “Please open the door.  You closed my hand in the door.”

“That would explain the scream at the beginning,” I said. “Should we call the front desk or the police or something?”

“Maybe,” MJS said.

Then shit got real: “WHEN YOU OPEN THE DOOR, I’M GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE.”

MJS and I stared at each other all wide eyed. Clearly it was time someone did something, but who and what?

I texted my friend TA: There’s a fight going on right outside our room.

She texted back: Shit. Women?

I texted: Man and woman.

About that time, which was also when we decided we could not sit there and do nothing any longer, that action must be taken, the hotel manager and a security guard walked down the hall to where the man was pounding on the door. MJS reported all this to me from her peephole post. We could hear his walkie talkie radio thingy through the door, and the manager explained that someone would be checking out that night, that this is a nice hotel and cannot tolerate incidents such as this. Also that the police had been called.

“Well, that was close,” MJS said. “I thought I was going to have to go out there and break it up.”

“In your towel? Yeah, right,” I said.

MJS went back into the bathroom. I took over her spot by the door.

 

“There are three cops walking down the hall!” I screamed excitedly!

“And they just heard you,” MJS called from the bathroom.

The manager stepped away from that room and stood right outside ours to talk to another employee downstairs:  “They are checking out now, so go ahead and charge them for a full night. And authorize an additional $500. There’s blood everywhere.”

"This is like watching a reality show through a peephole," I said to MJS.

"Yeah, and every other person on this floor is doing the same thing right now," she said, "hunched by their doors, peeping."

TA texted me: Is it still going on?

I texted back: OMG, the popo are here!!!

TA texted: Can you leave the room?

I texted: Well, yes, but I have to see this thing through. I'm still eavesdropping.

TA texted: oh jeez.

MJS emerged from the bathroom dressed and ready to go. “Hurry up; we have to beat them downstairs so we can watch the cops drag his battering ass out of here. But I wish we could go look in the room and see the blood."

Unfortunately, the room in question was not on the way to the elevator, so we had no choice but to skip the rubbernecking. By the time they got to the lobby, the one man, his bag, and the three cops around him, MJS and I each had a beer in hand, ready to watch his walk of shame.

“Cheers!” I said to her, and we clinked bottles. TA, who was enjoying both the story and a martini, rolled her eyes at us.

“What?” I said. “It’s the pre-dinner show. And we didn’t even have to pay for it!”

Dinner was good too, and not a chicken finger in sight.