Throwdown at the Honker Inn!

Not too long ago, I (barely) lived through a true-life Jerry Springer episode.

We were staying at an Oklahoma Honker Inn (name has been changed to protect...the guilty, I suppose). Saturday, midnight rolled around and I'd almost moved on to sleep. Except the air conditioner died. *Thunk* Hsssss...

Well, that sucked, but seemed fairly tenable if I could just kick off a blanket, get comfy, become one with the bed, think of...random thoughts...and weird visions (what's that guy with three eyes doing?)...and...and...

Bang! Slam! Crack! Crack! Booooooommmm! Tromp, tromp, tromp! "Woo-HOOOO!" "Woo-HOOOOO!"

Suddenly I was in the middle of a battleground.

Crap. I burritoed my head within the pillow and hoped for the best. But even through the pillow, I still heard...

"Woo-HOOOOOO! Here we go! HERRRRRE we go!"

Incredibly loud slamming of doors and shouts went on for over an hour. My wife stirred when I flipped the light on beside her to get to the phone (but mercifully--a weird way to put it--she'd had minor surgery and was conked out on pain pills).

Hey! The phone's not working! Great!

Cursing, red-eyed, already sleep-deprived, I put on my clothes (buttons mismatched), and stumbled out into the hallway. Yep, a whole lotta noise coming from the people next door.

I went down to the lobby and no one was there. Just a sign that said "Be back in 5 to 10 minutes." Finally, a young woman rounds the corner, asks if she can help me.

"Yeah, my phone's not working, otherwise I wouldn't be down here. There's all kinds of noise going on next to me. Doors slamming, loud partying, shouting--"

"I know," she says with a smile, eager to please, "there were some boys down in the exercise room making noise. I had another complaint already. I talked to them."

"But...that's on the other side of the hotel. I don't think it's them. I'm at the opposite end."

"Oh, they're probably just running back and forth. Boys will be boys." Smile.

I said, "It's 1:30 in the morning. Shouldn't these boys will be boys be boys in bed?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'll get to the bottom of this," she says, less than confident.

We ride up on the elevator together. Scared of her own shadow, she admits, "I've only been here three weeks. I really hate this."

Sympathetic, I agree. "I know, I would, too. I really appreciate it. And, I mean, I believe in fun like the next guy, but it's 1:30 in the morning!"

"I know, right?" she says. "And you're old, too. Um, I mean--"

"Good night."

All is apparently well and done. Daisy (we'll call her "Daisy") has done her due diligence. I begin to drift off. I'm floating, finally, eyelids heavy, body lifting, three-eyed fish with hats covered in stars swim past me...and...and...

BLAMMO! BASH! CRASH! "Yee-HAAHHHHH!" SLAMMMMMMM! CRACKETY-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK! "Wooooo-HOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!"

I nearly fall out of bed. The savage party people are back with a vengeance. Purposefully slamming every door repeatedly as hard as they can. Shock-waves vibrated through the walls.

I'd had enough. The phone had failed. The air conditioner had failed. Sleep had failed. Daisy failed. At 2:20, I throw my clothes on again, go next door, pound on the door.

A clearly wasted, glassy-eyed, fake-blond woman in a too small t-shirt answers the door.  Cigarette in hand (non-smoking room), beer in the other. Two small kids hovered behind her.

I said, "Could you PLEASE stop slamming doors?" (Okay, okay, I mighta shouted it a bit).

Waiting for a nice, civil reply, I stood there expectantly. Instead, she slurred, "Get the f**k outta here." Then slammed the door in my face. The final indignation.

That lit my fuse. I gave the door (an ineffective--nothing like the movies) kick, and yelled, "That did it! I'm calling the cops,"I stomped down the hall. ("So THERE".) 

Behind me, her door flew open.

She screamed, "Hey! Hey! You wanna go, bitch? Let's go! C'mon! Kick down my door, bitch? I'ma' gonna kill you, bitch!"

I'm thinking, Okay, this just got bad.

Flump, flump, flump!

She ran after me, grabbed the back of my shirt, hit me in the back, then the shoulder blade, shrieking the entire time. "Let's go! Call the cops on me? Yeah, right! You kicked down my door! You wanna go? C'mon, bitch! I'll kick your ass! I'll..."

"Jesus! I didn't kick down your door!"

I kept plugging straight ahead, crazy thoughts running through my mind (I bet her kids are proud of her.) She's pulling at me, slamming into me rassler style. Then she races around in front of me and drops into a crouch. Her claws go up, middle fingers flipping me off, incredibly sharp, scary fingernails scratching the air. (Honestly, since that day, I've tried to emulate that move and don't know how she did it; clearly practice makes perfect).

I'm suddenly trapped in one of the ever-increasing and disturbing news stories you read about where crazy people kill someone over the stupidest reasons.

"I'm gonna rip you a new one, pussy! C'mon, let's go!"

"I'm not gonna fight you," I said and kept walking. I mean, A) I don't fight women; B) Frankly, I don't fight men, I'm 58; C) I particularly don't fight crazed, hammered idiots; and D) I don't want to die, especially in such a stupid situation.

I continued to try and pass to safety. She lashed out, scratched my hand with her claw, dashed back in, slashed my arm. Doing my best to dodge her attack, I plundered on, but it was akin to being tossed into a rose bush (a vile, amped-up, sociopathic, rose bush).

Out of nowhere, a seven foot-tall cowboy with an even taller cowboy hat, wearing an immaculately pressed long-sleeve cowboy shirt, gets in my face.

The hell? Where'd HE come from? Surely, I'm hallucinating. Giant cowboys don't just show up in the middle of brawls...wait...  Now, I'm REALLY gonna die.

Clearly, he was there to defend his woman's (term used loosely) honor, trying to put a muzzle on his dog so he could hoe-down on my face. With about three feet of height on Meth-thusela, he picked her up easily and threw her back down the hallway. Many times.


"Go! Go back to the room. Go eat tacos," he shouted. 

Tacos? What the hell?

To me, he said, "What're you doin'? What's your problem?"

"Look, I'm not gonna fight you, either," I said as I tried to bypass the hellbilly duo. 

(Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...)

Meanwhile, Long, Tall Tex continues to lasso his hellcat and toss her back down the hallway. Undeterred, she lunged at me again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Through Tex's intervention, I finally managed to make it to the elevator, but I just know I'm gonna get a country stomping.

Finally, I made it inside the elevator. Tex wedged his back against the doors, keeping them from shutting. Sweet, sweet momma comes running up again, dives. Tex grabs her.

He shouts one last time, "Go back to the room! Now! I'll take care of him! Go! Go eat tacos! Git!"

At long last, she goes to eat tacos (fear not, dear reader, as she'll return to the narrative; oh, yes, yes she will). Tex is still holding up the elevator, now buzzing like a swarm of locusts.

He presses four strong, cattle-rustlin' fingers into my chest, says, "Talk to me. Just let's chat."

I'm hammering buttons to no avail. I'm freaked out. I manage, "She attacked me."

Matter of factly, Tex says, "Look, we didn't slam no doors. It wasn't us. We been gone for an hour. We went out to get tacos. We didn't slam no doors."

In response, I punch buttons. The elevator's going "BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ....." I'm so way beyond slamming doors. And, oddly, I want tacos.

"Get it? It wasn't us," Cowboy continued. "We didn't slam no doors. We went out to get tacos."

I couldn't think clearly. I wondered why a family would get tacos at 2:00 in the morning. The guy wasn't letting me leave the elevator, wouldn't let the doors close. Finally, to get him outta my face (actually, I'm 6'2" and I'm looking up), I told him, "Look, just let me go, I'll change rooms."

And that sounded like a hella good idea. I needed sleep. Appeased, Tex finally backed off, releasing the elevator doors. I ride down to the lobby...

Wait! This showdown is SO big and SO momentuous and SO surreal (and SO damn long), that it'll have to be continued...until next week!

In the meantime, here...read a book...