The Wal-Mart, inflatable, queen-size bed was something of a disaster. I knew it had no built-in pump, so I’d made sure to bring a battery operated compressor with me, one I used for inflating the tires on the car. Two hours later, with battery virtually exhausted, the mattress still lolled pathetically across its steel supports like some inflatable sex doll punctured by an over-enthusiastic owner. I nicknamed it, “Blow-up Bertha”.
It was eleven o’clock, after stopping for an hour to recharge the compressor battery, before Bertha was firm enough to slip into the cloth cover fastened atop the frame. I made up the sheets and blankets brought from home and looked forward, at last, to some repose.
The house was totally quiet as I turned off the lights and headed for the bedroom. It was too far from the road for any traffic noise. No wind stirred the tall conifers bordering the lawns. I undressed and went to climb into bed.
The racket was unbelievable. From the moment my body touched the bed, any slight movement produced a scrawking, scrunching noise from the plastic mattress that set my teeth on edge. Imagine for a moment a dumpster filled with ice cubes being crushed by one of those hydraulic vices one finds in scrap yards. That was the noise emanating from Wal-Mart’s “Made in China” queen-size, blow-up bed every time I moved so much as a muscle.
I debated whether to persevere or sleep on the floor. It was a close decision but the mattress was, at least, moderately comfortable once I’d learned to lie absolutely still and rigid. After driving ten hours, tiredness took over and I eventually dropped off, though the night was punctuated by periods of wakefulness whenever I moved position in my sleep sufficient to trigger the trillion, crunching, ice cubes.
I did investigate the noisy mattress next day, endeavoring to discover some means to quiet it. I never found one. It seemed incredible something resembling an over-sized beach Lilo could produce such decibels. If real blow-up sex dolls were made of this stuff, I mused bitterly, they’d prove worse than any nagging wife. Chinese plastic, it seems, is just plain noisy.
After a few nights, Bertha and I did eventually learn to sleep together, though for the rest of the week I was there, it remained an uneasy relationship.
