So - the unthinkable has happened.
I live with roaches. If I had one aim in keeping a steady job it was to never have to live with these horrid things.
Today's conversation:
Boyfriend: Well the cat swatted at a moth last night.
Me: Great. We just have to wait for it to be 85ยบ out for them to start flying for the cats to care. Have you ever seen a roach fly?
Boyfriend: yeah
Me: No. Have you ever SEEN a roach fly?
Boyfriend: I've heard about it.
Me: well let me tell you about it. It's trauma. Just trauma. I hope we're dead by then.
Boyfriend: ....I don't.
And he says that like I'm the crazy one for wanting my life to end before another roach can fly in my general direction. I have memories from growing up in Texas of roaches - big ass roaches- flying around me. This is how I know I couldn't join the armed services. I remember two roaches flying as my death being imminent, as my body being dive bombed. You'd think since I grew up with roaches this wouldn't be an issue but that somehow has made it worse. [scary voice] here little girl. this is what you shall fear for your whole life. It's gross but all things considered only wants to eat the crumbs you leave behind. Fear it as if it has a gun. Run screaming from rooms; pull your legs in and cry in front of colleagues; scream "don't touch me" at your partner as you rock yourself. it's all a rational response..... I'm considering EMDR.
Let's take it back. Since I left my lonely glass box in the sky and returned from following my manifest destiny with my big G last year I've hunkered down with my boyfriend in sublet after sublet. At first it was those 'first time living together' jitters. Short term meant we wouldn't be saddled with a lease. But then it was kinda fun and we wanted to experiment with neighborhoods in NYC. We tried LES then Williamsburg and now we're in Park Slope. It's beautiful and the neighborhood feel is unbeatable and we've got such a deal from the family we're renting from that has two cats. We're looking after them - you know putting out food and water, trapping them and unceremoniously cutting off any hair smeared in liquid shit, laughing at them when they do dumb stuff. normal cat-owner stuff.
But this is my first time living on the first floor. In a building that's so old the pipes make noises. So I did not anticipate what came next. I was innocently reclining on the couch when my boyfriend ever so softly goes uh oh as he opens the dishwasher. I'm instantly up - my friends a soft uh oh from a man is far worse than a "OH FUCK BABE THIS IS BAD". A soft uh oh is him knowing the illusion of a safe world is crashing down and not wanting his partner to know because the panic will commence. To my credit I did not let all of my shit hit the fan at once when he responded to my 'What!?" with "I think there was a roach in the dishwasher." (let's take a second: EW. just EW.) I said "you THINK? what does that mean?" "there was a roach in the dishwasher."
For fuck's sake. Have I not suffered enough in life? But no. fresh hell hath come and it was just getting started. Over the next few days I saw a small running mustache (that's a centipede) in the sink. Then there was a roach exoskeleton in the dishwasher then another dishwasher roach. At this point I wasn't going near the dishwasher - they seemed to be contained to that box. As long as I didn't open it I'd be okay. Right? RIGHT??
Then one night I was done with my shower and styling my hair and realized I needed more leave in than I had put in. I returned to the fridge (I buy some curl products that are amazing but they need to be refrigerated) where I had put back the products when I thought I was done. I opened the door and leaned inside, my holding the end of my hair in my left hand, reaching my right hand to the product in the door to get a pump. Once the pump of product was in my hand I started to lean right and up, out of the way of the fridge door to swing back into place and so my head was closer to the sink. There was a roach skittering (that's the only word to describe what was happening) - he was running along the edge of the countertop precariously looking like he might fall off the edge at any moment and he was running directly at my face.
I attempted to turn the other way (narrowly avoiding the swinging fridge door) and run but there was a couch in my way. So in a fit of athleticism* I vaulted over the couch. Note that at this point I'm still naked - my body is towel dry but my hair is somewhere between damp and wet. Also at this point my left hand still is holding the ends of my hair (in a twist) and my right hand now has a pump of product - expensive product- in it. So this vault is as follows: I take a step to the back of the couch, place my right elbow on it and use that as my lever to vault my body up and onto the couch. I then assemble myself in the fetal position with my wrists wrapped around my shins, hair in one hand (it's like really long) and product in the other hand.
*I say a fit of athleticism like it's a super human feat...I'm actually quite strong and I work out every day and can do some cool stuff with my body but I wasn't a jock in high school so I have this persistent view of myself as a couch potato? When will I re-identify? nobody knows.
My boyfriend runs in and yells 'what?' and in my brain I'm like 'obviously there's a bug; do you have a brain?!' He apparently thought from my scream I had cut myself or something? Even though just to be clear I had apparently screamed 'WHY IS IT SO HUGE?'....I guess that could have been about a cut? I really wonder what our neighbors think happened.
And no matter how racked with fear I was I heard him say 'do you want me to kill it?' and my brain fired up anger on several cylinders. Of course I want you to kill it. What are we, gonna make it into another pet and teach it fetch? NO. that thing tried to assault me (I think. I'm fairly sure it was going to end my life.) KILL IT. Fear still had my facial muscles though so I squeaked out some kind of affirmative mix of yes and uh huh.
I would find out later that he asked because he grew up in a catch and release type household. He wanted my preference. He asked for the preference of a woman who was rocking in the fetal position crying tears of fear. But my veganism ain't based on a belief in the sanctity of bug life. Murder that thing that dares come for me. Murder its whole family.
He would later describe what happened next as "I felt its body break" which I find comforting and revolting. I'm passing the gratuitous visual onto you. Congratulations.
As any normal person would I then decided it was time for 2 things
1) I would no longer go into the kitchen. It was a crime scene. So now my boyfriend had to bring me 3 meals a day and 4 water bottles a day - and clean all the dishes. We would also cook with me giving instructions from afar and him doing the work. It's actually kinda great and he feels like he's taking care of me. At least he liked it when it first started. Ah, novelty.
2) We needed roach poison. I contacted the people who really live here and they had seen roaches but been too afraid for the cats to put poison in the house. I knew I could put it out of reach of the cats (in/under cabinets). So off I went.
I immediately purchased the squeezey tube of delicious poison they eat and then they wait to die until they are back at the nest and then the other roaches eat the dead body and they all die. heh heh heh. When we're at the store the guy recommends the little square puck things that have the poison in them. I prefer the tube because it's so much more poison and I want alllll the bodies to hit the floor. But I also read online that cleaning this stuff up is gross so I decide we're going to put it on slips of paper for easy cleanup once the infestation is gone (keep dreaming naive one).
Okay we need to pause here to talk about how great my boyfriend is. This is a man with a tremendous tolerance of trash/dirt in his space but right after the roach sightings he decided to start washing dishes before the dishwasher and cleaning the sink out frequently. Something about a man cleaning is very sexy. So we have the squeezey tube and he comes up with the idea to use receipts to put the poison on - that way the poison can go deep between cabinet cracks. So smart. Then he executed this like a pro while I watched/ cowered from the couch. Also the receipts are great for this because as far as headlines tell me they may be covered with a toxic substance. So EAT THAT roaches. No seriously - eat it. And put your way too many and too gross feet all over that toxic paper.
After the day of poisoning there is one more roach in the dishwasher sighting the next day. Then.... nothing. After 2 weeks I occasionally open the fridge door (from a safe distance). After another week I venture deeper into the kitchen to get myself dishes and utensils. I cook my first meal, then another on the stove. Things are good.
Until one morning I come out from the bathroom and see one of those wretched vermin just lounging in front of the fridge. I scream, waking my still slumbering boyfriend. In his haze he stumbles over I point and scream fridge (from the safety of the couch). Unfortunately it gets away as my boyfriend tries to smash it. He diligently gets another receipt, poisons it, and sticks it under the fridge. Even in half sleep! No 'I'll deal with it later' - what a man!
So now we're back to him delivering all my food and water. Ugh. And this morning I screamed to wake him up again as I saw a roach running on the floor between the stationary bike and the weight bench - that's a whole different room from the kitchen!! Again he finds it but it gets away into cracks between walls. diabolical. Dia-fucking-bolical I say. So now I oscillate between 'omg they're everywhere and spreading' and the story I've come up with which is that this roach is the same one - having escaped twice. He's the last egg that hatched after everybody else was dead from eating each other. Once he hatched he somehow didn't eat the poisoned bodies and is now on a journey to find sustenance and a new family of roaches. It's a nice story, right? Almost certainly a impossible and definitely a delusion but it helps me not freak out and hope for my own death. So there's that.
We have a little over 2 more months in this apartment and the roaches are taking one room at a time from me. It's the end. Send reinforcements before I'm devoured.
