I was sound asleep, dreaming of undulating meadows, chirping birds and flowing wine spigots (it was odd, but very soothing). KAPOW! Pssssssssssst! Just as I was about to pour myself a glass and lie back in my Grecian couch (undoubtedly to be fed grapes by the nice muscular young man in the toga), the wine spigot exploded and I was awake.
“Errrr….Honey?” I mumbled in confusion, “either you just did the mother of all farts, or something exploded in the RV”
“Hmmmfhhh” responded Paul, always the quick thinker at 3AM in the morning
“Aaaand..” I managed to add, after the fog cleared in my brain and my eyes adjusted somewhat “you’re sinking”
This was either the beginning of some kind of weird zombie dream, or our pain-in-the-ass Sleep Number bed had popped. As Paul sunk deeper into the abyss, we both had to admit the latter was the most likely scenario. The blank screen on our pump controller was totally dead (darn, stupid air mattress) and at this point Paul was lying in a manufactured crypt with our life-saving mattress topper as the only thing preventing direct body-on-wood contact.
They DO say a firm surface is better for the back, but this is ridiculous. Given there was not much we could do at 3AM, Paul disappeared back into the hole and we slept on it.
In the morning things did not look any better. We now had a mountain-and-grand-canyon configuration with a completely dead pump and (possibly) a blown bladder. In a weird twist of conservation of mattress air, my side of the bed had somehow inflated to concrete-strength firmness while Paul’s side had settled into complete flacidity…and both were completely stuck. The only positive point was despite a night in “the box” Paul was still able to move and had not (yet) grown any vampire teeth.
A few hours later and a call to Sleep Number confirmed my fears that the pump had fried. It also revealed that their “20-year guarantee” is actually a “limited” warranty which is a sneaky way of saying that if the bed breaks you still pay for new parts (just at a very “special” price). Yet another of the oh-so-many-reasons I am not a fan of this bed.
Given our limited options as to how long Paul could survive in “the hole” without transforming into a blood-sucking RV demon, I shelled out the $100 and we had a new pump on its’ way. Two days later and a new pump, we got the good news that air was working, but the bladder had ALSO failed. We’ve applied a temporary gorilla glue/tire patch/duck tape (just for good measure) fix, have shelled out another $55 and are now waiting for that.
So, here we are…cursing our bed, but thankfully in gorgeous surroundings (I have at least 200 pictures waiting to awe and bedazzle you). We’re keeping an eye on Paul’s canines (just in case), but should be back up and running once we get the new bladder. Who ever said RV life was boring?