One night after we had gone to bed, expecting a night of good, uninterrupted sleep guarded by our bright "no vacancy" sign, someone rattled the knob of our door and then began to knock furiously. Grant pulled on a robe and went sleepily to the office door, so that the person who had been knocking on the living room door would go to the office to talk to him.
A few seconds later he was neck-deep in argument with the possessor of a shrill, strident, powerful voice. Prodded by my seldom dormant curiosity, I crept out of bed and slightly moved the curtains that hung over the window of the door to the office. I peeked into the office; there, confronting Grant, stood a behemoth of a woman who matched the voice in every respect. Her massive chin stuck out aggressively; and she was the possessor of a bosom that, if it could have been divided up among the female population, would have put several falsie manufacturers out of business.
"You get out of that bed!" the woman shrieked--a rather pointless command, since, obviously, Grant was not in bed. "Get your clothes on," she went on relentlessly, "and get out of that bed, and out of this cabin. They rented it to me and my husband, less than an hour ago, and I paid for it, and I intend to stick up for my rights. We rent a place, and then go out for a malt, and drive around a little, and what happens? They rent the place to someone else. I suppose they think they'll get double rent. Well, I hope they'll give you your money back, and of course you can't be blamed for renting a cabin when you didn't know it was already rented, but I'm telling you, I won't stand for it, so now hurry and get up and get out."
The woman folded her arms, with difficulty, around her jutting bosom, and stood waiting for Grant to slink away. When he didn't slink, but began to explain to her in a reasonable tone that she was mistaken, she howled with anger.
"No excuses," she screamed. "And I don't care if your wife has ulcers and can't be moved, or whatever corny excuse you're going to pull."
"Look," Grant said patiently. "We live here. We own this motel. Nobody rented us a cabin tonight, and what's more, we didn't rent you a cabin here at all. Now, if you'll excuse me once, I'll go back to bed--my bed, not yours."
But the woman's huge body remained planted in the doorway. She was quivering with determination. "My husband and I are going to have our cabin," she bellowed. "I'll call a cop."
"Fine. Would you like to quick use our phone?"
I leaped back into bed, just in time. The woman came into the room like a rhinoceros on the warpath, and glowered at me until I was almost ready to get up, apologize for sleeping in her bed, and creep away.
Grant handed her the telephone.