So Yeah: You're not going to believe this.
Then again, you might. ( Last chance to bail if you're super squeamish about a certain type of bug! )
You've heard the stories about my apartment building. It's mismanaged all to hell, the building is old enough that there is a fading Fallout Shelter placard on the exterior (as opposed to this positively pristine one mounted on the local Masonic Temple—and I do mean that in the original definition of the word: that thing looks like it came out of the original factory and somehow was protected from all the elemental nonsense that's been thrown at it since it went up). There is enough mold in the building that adding a HEPA system to the unit last year actually did increase my quality of life (I actually haven't had a sinus event since I got the thing). Pieces and bits of the bathroom wall regularly fall in and it takes weeks to get any attention to the problem. I've had to repair my own damn sink a few times because maintenance seems to not care about that issue, and the only reason a gas leak that I've been reporting since I moved in got fixed was because I was out for an extended period of time, there was a draft, and someone else just so happened to smell it.
I'm not saying that you have to have high expectations for a damn public housing complex but base livability would be nice, yannou?
This is the same place when, the BB infestation started a little over two years ago now, certain residents—yours truly included—were called unhygenic, had our morals called into question, told we had fleas and “why don't we try bathing a little more?”
What the miso-glazed fuck?
At the height of my own problem—thrifting was in, I'd had a rather gorgeous sofa sleeper thrifted in because I was getting rid of everything associated with a certain ex. Little did I know, this gorgeous sofa sleeper was going to soon be known as…
Yes, THAT Pestilence Couch. Turned out the store was POSITIVELY RIDDLED with the bastards. And reporting did nothing. So, took drastic measures. I captured one of the fuckers and brought it to the landlord.
“That's a flea.”
…y'all better get used to the phrase “What the miso-glazed fuck” because I actually asked her “What the miso-glazed fuck are you talkin' about? Does this look like a flea to you?”
“Look. I don't know what kind of life you live, what you have—”
“I know you didn't just call me flea-bitten.” A death stare. The landlord is oddly quiet.
“I've already confirmed outside what this is. I'd like a confirmation from the exterminators, and then an extermination.”
“If we don't find anything, though?”
“Then y'all are full of it and I'm getting rid of the furniture that brought them in if you're JUST THAT SURE.”
On my way back up, I found a neighbor who ALSO had them on hand to report. She lived four floors below me. On the one hand, it was good to see I hadn't tracked them in with that damned Pestilence Couch. On the other, it meant the building is completely fucking fucked.
Three weeks later, Orkin doesn't trip the tripline I set leading to the obvious signs and I have Pestilence Couch removed. You know what else gets removed? Orkin as the building extermination company.
But it ain't over
Fast forward, it's nigh a year of sleeping on the floor, and I replace the bed with something new. The building still has issues. My linens and bed are mostly clear. I'd like them completely clear. I report every one of the bitey bastards, since a winter with them has taught me that I am very allergic. A few times a month the place is sprayed. A few times a month the new exterminator tracks a new one or two in. A few times a month a few hitchhike from the bus and I have to take care of that. It's all very awkward and panic attack inducing. The bugs have invaded my C-PTSD. Apparently it's colloquially called 'bedbug psychosis.' I can kinda see it.
And now the Fuckery
The building manager and the exterminator are in disagreement about my bug status. You know why?
BECAUSE MY MATTRESS IS TOO CLEAN.
So, what am I supposed to do, let them bite me? Feed? Breed? Leave them be? Fucking fuck no bruh. I literally got orders to “capture one alive to prove it” from the manager
And this morning I got my chance. Yanked him right off the bed and an attempt to get at my ankle and slammed him into a glue trap. Then there was one on my back support pillows for gaming. ONTO THE GLUE TRAP WITH YOU TOO—YES, DEFINITELY SIR WITH THAT SHAPE.
And then I missed my bus for work.
…but, while I was trying to make the intercept walk to my bus, I got called off. Not a day of work this week so far.
I turn around, leave a giant fucking sign with an arrow on it reading BEDBUG by the glue trap, and make a grocery run—smoothie stuff because my stomach is back on the warpath.
By the time I get back (a prescription won't be ready until later, I have to make a second trip), the trap as been moved slightly and replaced with a fresh, empty one.
…got my point across this time.