GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1095: JOHN'S APARTMENT, PART 3

 [This happened before the exterminator came by to spray my apartment down.]

I'd just finished filling the left side of the kitchen sink so I could soak my dirty dishes overnight. I went to my bedroom, took off my clothes except my boxers and sat on my bed, hand on my laudanum bottle for my last dose of the night. Then, I realized I'd forgotten something in the kitchen, so I put my slippers on and went back out. As soon as I turned on the light, I saw three roaches on the floor. They're smart, I think. They know all the signs that point to my bedtime and stay out of sight until they see them.

Except I forgot something tonight. I felt cornered, like a rat, no weapon, so I took a fighting stance and waited for the end of my life. Because I wasn't going to die alone tonight, no sir.

All right, I stomped two of them. The third got away. And that's when I noticed a fourth chilling on my kitchen counter. The only thing I had close to me was the dish soap bottle, so I grabbed that and brought it down on the cockroach with the fury of a thousand suns.

And missed. Little fucker jumped into the full kitchen sink and evaded me. I figured he'd make his escape while I was asleep. Or I'd find him the next day when I did my dishes.

Fast forward to the next morning. I'd forgotten about the roach by then, so it was a surprise when I found his corpse floating at the top of the water. Huh. I didn't know cockroaches could drown, but there it was, the evidence before my eyes.

I did my dishes--very, very diligently--and when I unplugged the drain, I said to the dead roach, "So long, sucker." I checked to make sure it did, indeed, swirl away.

I then went about my day. It was maybe an hour later when I realized, you know, it seems really absurd that roaches can drown. Aren't they supposed to be able to survive a nuclear holocaust? A little water shouldn't be able to kill a survival machine like that. So I Googled it, and much to my relief, the first thing I saw was that yes, cockroaches can drown.

My victory was snatched away instantly by the second sentence: that roaches can drown, but it's very hard for them to do so. They breathe through holes in their bodies instead of a mouth, and they have the ability to close those holes and survive without oxygen for 45 minutes. So they are very good at playing possum. How likely was it that the roach had actually drowned in my sink?

Out of curiosity I went back to the kitchen JUST IN TIME TO SEE HIM RISING FROM THE DRAIN LIKE JASON FUCKING VOORHEES. But I think he was wearing the hockey mask just to intimidate me. I brought down the dish soap bottle again and watched with satisfaction as bits of the little bugger came off and stuck to the bottom.

Victory, yes. But for how long? FOR HOW LONG?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1094: JOHN'S APARTMENT, PART 2

 

I usually wake up sometime between 3 and 4 in the morning because I have to take a piss. The problem is, I can't go back to sleep after that, so I'm pretty much up after that.

Two weeks ago I got up for the usual. As I went, I blew my nose and dropped the tissue into the toilet, where I promptly peed on it. Then, as I washed my hands after, I glanced up and saw a glob on the spot where my neck and chest meet. What the fuck? Did a booger escape the Puffs?

I peered closer at the mirror and discovered, much to my horror, that it was not an errant clump of nasal beef. That was a dead fucking cockroach.

Oh yeah. They've been back for a bit. They trickled back in, but now I have to kill about a half dozen of them before I've even made breakfast.

Not too long ago I went out to run some errands to see the cops evicting my downstairs neighbor. They were wearing protective suits. One of them advised me to stay away from the stuff they were carrying out. "You don't want to get any bugs on you."

My dick shriveled at that, thinking BEDBUGS. No, we were later notified that she was the source of the cockroaches, and that the exterminator would be coming by periodically to spray everyone's apartments for the next month or two.

A couple of days before I saw that dead roach on me, the guy came and sprayed the kitchen and bathroom. The day after I'd noticed that they were now hanging out in my bedroom. I keep my Mom's ashes on a small table next to my bed, and while I was having a word with her (as I sometimes do), I noticed one of the little bastards crawling around next to her urn.

Back to the mirror. I scraped and scrubbed, and that clump of bug body just didn't want to come entirely off. I figure I must have rolled over on him in my sleep, and he'd just sorta . . . stuck around for hours before I woke up. It did not bring me joy to know these fucking things are so brazen that they'd crawl into bed with me in it.

So yeah, ever since then I've occasionally woken up to feel a tickle on my back. My first thought used to be, oh, that's just sweat, I'll wipe it off. Now, after feeling something tickle my finger a couple of times, my first thought is, oh, for fuck's sake.

They're starting to thin out. I only saw two of them this morning when I went for my 3:15 am Morning Piss (TM). Maybe we're finally on our way to being rid of them once and for all.

Because one time, while I was heading out the door to go to work, I saw three roaches between the door and the frame at eye level. I had to turn back, get my Raid, and return to spray them with all the force I could muster, like Hunter S. Thompson with a can of mace and Nixon within arm's reach. I'd rather not have to do that again.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1022: JOHN'S APARTMENT

 When I was a kid living with my mom, stepfather and (at the time) two baby brothers in an apartment across from the train tracks in Elmhurst, we had a few roommates with us: cockroaches. They were a persistent problem to the point where I had to check my shoes every morning. Because there was this one time I was putting them on for school, and I felt something move in one of them. I took it off, and two roaches dropped out and scurried under the couch I was sitting on. It had an effect on me. For many years thereafter I checked my shoes for bugs before putting them on.

And now that I have a new apartment I find myself in a similar situation. I also have baby mosquitos, but they're nothing compared to the surprise of seeing a roach in your bathroom at three in the morning.

I'm back to checking my shoes.

As with back then, they only come out at night, and they seem to stick to the bathroom and the kitchen. I found one in my bedroom, and it met its demise under a mail catalog shortly thereafter.

Most of them are little baby roaches, and when I sprayed the place down with Raid they stopped coming around. I confidently thought that I'd dealt with the situation well, but I also knew from experience that if you see one roach, there are possibly hundreds more of them. I didn't let my guard down.

Now the adults are coming out. I found two of them in the kitchen, but they were quick to evade me. I started seeing visions of me as Peter Weller in Of Unknown Origin.

One of the roaches looked big enough for me to put a leash on, but I don't want to be charged the pet fee by my landlord. The other, however, looked big enough to put a leash on me.

This morning they tried to mug me in the kitchen when I went for my morning Tang. Thankfully I was carrying the can of Raid in my free hand (the other held the crutch I get around on), and I sprayed the fuckers.

And they practically laughed at me. Big Ed, the one who might take me as a pet, attempted to knock the Raid from my hand with his brass knuckles, but I sprayed the bastards harder and harder until they finally fell over onto their backs, their legs flailing at the ceiling. I didn't let up. I sprayed them until I was certain they were dead. I held a mirror to Big Ed's nose, just to be sure.

I scraped them up with a shovel and disposed of them. But there might be more.

If you don't hear from me for a while, please check in. I don't want to end up like poor Joe . . .

Joe's Apartment