Stinking Bugs

As some of you already know, there is a pest control problem in my apartment in Atlanta. For weeks my sister and I have been battling invisible blood suckers. It’s exhausting – especially for me. For every one bite my sister receives I get about ten. The bugs prefer me. Perhaps it’s because they know I hate them more.

For whatever reason, I have had to take some extreme measures in the past few weeks, taping my ankles before bed (they love my ankles), tucking in my shirt, and even wearing long sleeves on a hot Georgia night. They got me anyway, but by golly I made them work for it!

At any rate, I was extra thrilled this year to come home and celebrate the holidays. Ten days in a bug free house! What bliss! No more bandages, no more itching and no more waking up in the night with that creepy crawling feeling. You know what I mean. The feeling that wakes you up at 1 AM because you know they’re crawling on you right now.

One eight hour drive later, we were home. I went to my room to drop off my suitcase when I heard a quiet yet distinct buzzing sound. I was certain it was my imagination; after all I had just left Bug Central. This was a safe zone - a bug free zone.

Or so I thought.

The very first night a nasty looking bug dive bombed me in bed. I screamed and bolted for my mom’s bedroom (as any self respecting grown-up would do.) My mom told me not to worry - it was just a harmless stink bug. I insisted that the bug was somehow “after me” in the same undeterred yet motiveless way that the monsters from horror films are always “after you” as soon as you shut off the TV.

Or maybe that’s just me.

But my mom was confident that the bugs had not randomly fixated on me.

“They’re everywhere this year,” she assured me.

We caught the bug and released it outside. I decided not to let this bother me. I was home and I wanted to relax. I shut the lights and curled up in my bed.

I was just on the edge of sleep when I heard the buzzing sound. Naturally I flipped out and got up. Being the brave, mature adult I am, I ran to my sister’s room in a panic. (My mom was already asleep and thus unavailable.) My ever dutiful sister got out of bed and volunteered to help me hunt down the bug menace.

After a brief search we found a couple of bugs sitting on the window sill. We opened the window and let them fly out. Now, I was exhausted. Being woken up just as I am about to falls asleep always leaves me very drained, plus bug hunting is stressful work. I fell asleep right away.

The next night, I checked the window sill and everything seemed clear. I shut the lights slipped under the covers. About ten second later I heard the dreaded buzzing. Being the sophisticated woman I am, I ran to my sister’s room. By all rights my sister should have been annoyed but she’s a fighter. The bugs had come back after she had kicked them out – now it was personal. She grabbed a flash light and we searched the room. After finding nothing, I decided to check the window again. Perhaps they were behind the curtain? They were. To my horror, clinging behind the navy blue curtain were at least eight fat stink bugs. I lost it. I dashed to the other side of the room and started, not screaming per say, but declaring in a high register that I hated bugs.

It’s not as if I was actually attempting to impart information on anyone. It’s just when you find eight fat stink bugs behind your curtains you’re obliged to hop up and down screaming, “oh my god, hate them, I hate them, I hate them so much!”

My sister’s generous nature had worn off. She crushed, smashed and drowned all the bugs – there were just too many to save, she insisted. One by one the bugs were uncovered and executed.

Even after the curtain was spotless (checked and double checked) there was no way I was going to sleep in that room – the bug room. So my sister begrudgingly let me bunk with her.
A couple of days passed peacefully.

One night, while sitting on my bed reading an old marine biology textbook (don’t ask), I got dive bombed by another bug. It bounced on my head, got briefly caught in my hair, and then landed on my nightstand. After screaming bloody murder and violently shaking my head like a crazed heavy metal drummer on speed, I ran off to get my sister. She wrapped the bug in a Kleenex and flushed him to his doom. My mom told me not to worry.

“They’re everywhere this year,” she reminded me.

Ironically, I had only found two other bugs in the entire house. The bug count in my room was 10+. Perhaps it was their headquarters.

After the bug was introduced to the toilet I went straight to bed. My stomach had been hurting the entire day and I was eager to sleep away the pain.

Around 1 AM I woke up. My stomach was on fire. Waves of nausea assaulted me. I ran to the bathroom and proceeded to become very ill. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me and my faithful body was doing her best to get rid of it as fast as possible. When I left the bathroom around 2:30 I was in tears. There wasn’t a single part of my body that wasn’t in pain.I cried myself to sleep.

At 5 AM I woke up and got sick again. This time I couldn’t go back to sleep. I came out of the bathroom light headed and weak. I curled up in the bed miserable. My head was pounding, my throat was burning, my stomach was on fire, even my lower back was in agony. I didn’t think I could feel any worse.

Then I heard it. Buzzing.

I couldn’t move, I was too weak and in too much pain. And yet, for the first time I wasn’t afraid of the bugs. As soon as I could move again I swore I was going to find an army issue flame thrower and roast the little bastards alive. Oh how glorious it would be! Me, standing there, with black paint and camouflage holding a flame thrower twice my height. Perhaps I would say something clever, “die you buggers,” or perhaps I would say nothing before I squeezed the trigger. The bugs would make a shrill little squeal before exploding like overdone popcorn. I would laugh. It would be glorious.

Suddenly, the retard-tastic exterminator from Atlanta popped into my head.

“There are serious psychological consequences to a pest infestation,” he had warned me.

Of course, I had not taken him seriously. Who would?

“He’s nuts,” I told my sister after he was out of earshot. “No one goes loopy because of a few bugs.”

As I lay there dreaming about fricasseeing my room invaders I wasn’t laughing manically, but if I could have, I would have.