There’s this
human tendency where we care about things that we shouldn’t, but ignore the
problems which affect and impact our lives. We care about unimportant things
because they’re a distraction from our own problems. They tell us that others
are fucked up, and it’s easy to point the finger. The things we should really
be working on are difficult, take commitment, and lots of time. There’s no
instant gratification when it comes to important, life altering efforts.
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| Diatomaceous Earth under a microscope |
Regardless
of the differing personalities of our bedrooms, each one was subject to nature.
Once the weather cooled, Jimi fell victim first. Only David believed he had
been bitten by bed bugs; Dr. Handsome and I ignored Jimi because it didn’t
affect us. Then nature made Dr. Handsome eat his words. It was only a matter of
time before they got to me.
When I
finally woke up with bites, I accepted our reality. We had bed bugs. The three
of us began discussing ways to get rid of them. We discussed how to approach
the subject with Natalie.
We
researched how to keep from being bitten in the mean time.
Jimi bought
a bucket of diatomaceous earth and sprinkled an outline around the mattress in
his room. After he finished, he gave it to Dr. Handsome and me. I sprinkled it
along the metal runners of my bed frame, around the legs of the bed, and inside
my newly purchased plastic mattress cover.
This was our
first line of defense, like the barbed wire fence placed before a bunker.
According to the smartest encyclopedia in the world, Wikipedia, diatomaceous earth
kills pests through a simple process we learned about in middle school. The
fine powder first incises the waxy layer which coats the exoskeleton through
its abrasive properties. After this, the moisture from within the bug diffuses
into the powder by way of osmosis and within a couple of days the pest is dead.
This would also help with the roach problem we weren’t worried about.
Sleepwear
became our second line of defense. By now, the cold which resulted from having
no heat came as a gift and a curse. On one hand, the bedbugs had an easier time
tracking us down. Our body heat contrasted with the wintry drafts of our
apartment and made its way to the bedbugs in the same fashion grandma’s fresh
apple pie reaches your nose on Thanksgiving.
On the other
hand, the apartment’s cold allowed us to sleep comfortably with more layers of
clothes. These clothes we deemed our bedbug suit.
I’d already
been sleeping in a thermal shirt and sweatpants so adding more layers wasn’t a
huge problem. I exchanged the thermal with a turtleneck, collar rolled up to
protect my neck. Rza would’ve been
proud. Underneath the turtleneck I had a tucked-in t-shirt so I couldn’t be
bitten in the lower back. Over the turtleneck I wore a hoodie, hood up over a
gray, knitted beanie. I wore cotton gloves tucked into my sleeves. Each of
these additions to my sleep attire came with no difficulties, but I struggled
with one last piece to the suit: socks.
Sleeping
with socks made me feel claustrophobic, like trying to crawl through a
drain-off tube or having a snow fort collapse on top of you. After a few weeks,
though, I grew to like the socks. They felt like a warm embrace from
form-fitting slippers, with the added benefit of extra protection.
Our third
line of defense was the most difficult of all: approaching Natalie and trying
to persuade her to hire an exterminator. The research told us an exterminator
would have to heat our whole building to a certain temperature which bedbugs
couldn’t live in. And he’d have to come back every couple of weeks to be sure
no bugs survived by hiding out in a basement crevice or the wall gaps. This
would cost Natalie a lot of money, and her only motivation was to make money,
not spend it, or be a good person and take care of her responsibilities—her
legal obligations. She had all the money which gave her all the power.
We’d already
dealt with the puzzle of getting Natalie to hire an exterminator when we
discovered the cockroach infestation. She said she would make an appointment
and a few days later Dr. Handsome asked whether she followed through.
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| Diatomaceous Earth magnified even more |
“Yes, yes.
He comes on Wednesday, nine in the morning. You guys must be gone before then.
No one allowed in the building while bug bombs go off,” Natalie said.
“Alright,
thank-you Natalie. I will tell the others,” Dr. Handsome said. Natalie would
still not speak with Jimi or me, unless it was absolutely necessary. We had
become, “the others.”
Wednesday
came around; excitement reared its head in unique ways. Jimi and I left for
work together and stopped for coffee beforehand. Dr. Handsome left for school,
and he may have spoken with a couple other students instead of sleeping in his
car or spending all his free time in the library.
After a full
day of stocking shelves and pushing carts respectively, Jimi and I headed home,
eager to be free of roaches.
“Puppies are
so cute,” Jimi said. “I love little golden retriever puppies. They’re like
little rays of sunshine.”
“…make you feel all warm inside,” I added.
“And give
you a healthy dose of Vitamin D.”
“Yeah, I
don’t think a person exists who could come up with a negative characteristic
about golden retriever puppies.”
“What about
when they piddle on the floor?”
“It’s almost
delightful to take the time to clean those little messes. Almost like a letter
from the puppy saying, ‘Hey. I missed you today. Wish we could’ve gone outside
and played ball. Can we play when you get home?’
“And of
course, I take the puppy out and play after I’m done reading his little letter.”
“You’re so
right. Know what else I like?”
“What?” I
asked.
“I really
love rainbows.”
“Know what’s
better than a rainbow?”
“I don’t
know, what?”
“A double
rainbow,” I said. We laughed and high-fived each other.
That
conversation didn’t really happen, but it might-as-well-have because it’s how
we felt. Really, we chatted about work, the weather, women: normal grown-up
things men talk about when they want to say something revealing but can’t
because it’s unmanly so they don’t.
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