A roach is a roach, of course
I once again feel compelled to talk about bugs. I just don’t like ‘em. They have too many legs, more than any one creature should have. They have antennae that grow longer than their entire body. The eyes, holy freaking hell the eyes. I shudder thinking about the eyes.
As much as I hate bugs, there was one time; I repeat one, in my life that I didn’t kill a bug. This bug happened to be a huge amber colored flying cockroach. Why didn’t I kill the beastly creature? Thanks for asking, I will tell you.
I was living on the island of Maui. A beautiful, tranquil 26 square miles of sand, beach, warm sea water, work, school and stinky semi-family members. Everyone romanticizes the Hawaiian Islands, just as they romanticize the Renaissance. I am guilty of both, until I lived on Maui; I have yet to time travel back to the Renaissance. The bugs are everywhere in Hawaii; it does not get cold enough for them to die. DIE!!! It took me months to realize the crunching sound as I walked through our yard at night was the roaches that lived under the grass. My dance I performed while getting laundry off the line to avoid one crawling up my leg was priceless.
My first night in paradise, I met one of the unfortunate creatures in my bedroom. I freaked per my usual reaction, I got the vacuum cleaner and savagely sucked it off the wall. I then put the vacuum cleaner outside the front door under the carport where the vermin could not get to me while I slept. This was not to the satisfaction of the vacuum cleaners owner, as it rained that night and swept the vacuum away. The next major occurrence was while moving to our new place. I had been up for many, many hours cleaning the old place to get the deposit back while packing and preparing the new place to be moved. After taking a shower and waiting to fall into bed, I laid the mattress down and it took off. Again, I freaked, but this time I was beyond tired and all I could do was sit in the hallway and cry. I stayed that way until my roommate came out and asked what was wrong and I replied “a roach is on my bed.” She laughed, went in killed the bug and I cried myself to sleep. Third encounter, I was returning home late from work. The house was silent, I walked into my room, flipped on the light and a shadow caught my eye. I slowly looked up and there it was a roach. It was on my light fixture. I again, was so tired and just wanted to sleep so I devised a plan. I slowly got into my closet to remove the following items: camp shirt, baseball hat and combat boots. Yeah, I owned combat boots, this happened to be the mid 90’s! See I needed the boots because I was entering warfare. I went into the kitchen and found the product with the greatest projectile distance; ChemDry. Back in my bedroom I gave myself a pep talk, got steady and took aim. The damn bug flew off my light fixture. HE FLEW!!! He made it to the wall turned his head and spoke “we have your baby and want money!” No, he didn’t but he probably had that ability. So, he flew at me and I ran trying not to scream and wake up the roommates! I did a high step to win medals, my knees were up to my chin and I was shaking my hair and clothes whispering “oh, no, yuck, gross” and other more colorful words. When I checked an hour later, he was gone. Where I don’t know I looked everywhere my gumption would let me, but I never found him.
Now the roach I was getting to. I went to do laundry one night; our laundry room was off the carport outside. I opened the door turned on the light and voila! This Godzilla of a creature was perched on a level that was on the window ledge. He didn’t scamper off like his kin when the light turned on, he just sat there. His antennae were long, so very long and he just waved them at me. I put my laundry in, he still didn’t move. You don’t mess with me, I don’t mess with you. Sure, Sara. Actually at this time I was reading The Metamorphosis and felt bad for the guy. Two days in a row he didn’t move when I would enter the laundry room. My roommate came in one day:
Her: Did you know there is a huge roach in the laundry room?
Me: Yeah.
Her: You haven’t killed it yet, why?
Me: Because Gregor hasn’t attacked me yet.
Her: You named it?
Me: I guess.
This relationship continued for a week. Then my roommate came to me very solemn with a confession. Apparently the roach had charged her and she swatted it and ended its life. She came complete with excuse and eulogy. It was fine. It wasn’t as if he was my pet, just for a matter of days, he and I had a mutual respect for one another. It was the last time that ever happened.
The next Sunday at a BBQ, three little girls were screaming that there was a bug. I came to the rescue with a bottle of laundry detergent and poured it over the bug. It got lost in the goo and perished. I was back!
