Reason enough to leave New York
I had a lot of reasons for wanting to move across the country. Most were fairly conceptual in nature - wanted more space, better weather, a slower, nicer pace of life. Others were more concrete - fear of buildings falling on my head from the next inevitable terrorist attack, better weather, and of course, the inevitable waterbugs. I came across this nice reminder of them today which made me give thanks again that I got out right on time.
I spent a good deal of time in New York talking about waterbugs, thinking about waterbugs, wondering when the next time a waterbug would make me consider suicide a better alternative than going to sleep for the night.
My first waterbug scare was in my kitchen on 86th street. I went to open one of the cupboards, and the thing flew out at me, flew across the room. I must have had Nick or Ryan kill it. We always had a supply of Raid - since we knew they were in the building from the ones which scampered or settled for life in the laundry room/basement, and were aware that you can NEVER EVER EVER step on a waterbug because on the off change you actually manage to squish it, the female's eggs will scatter everywhere and then settle and hatch and haunt for years to come. So, Raid, then, yes. Great to spray in the kitchen, by the way, especially when you're cooking.
Later that summer we saw a couple in the bathroom. I think Ryan or Nick was in the shower one time, and I saw another in the tub which we never used. Luckily, the boys always seemed to be around to take care of the problem. Not always, of course.
The next summer, when Kristin had moved in, she woke up one morning to a scratching in her closet. Scratching. The sound of a bug moving across the floor actually woke her up from sleeping. She got up, saw what it was, and started screaming. The thing ran out the door and down our hallway. I'm not sure what happened next, but Chachi had stayed over and managed to corner the thing (or so we thought) with some newspaper or a bag and threw it in the garbage or something. At that point, Ryan came stumbling out of his room, What happened? Always the pretty boy.
You'd think by this point I might have wanted to move out of the apartment. I had already started taking my laundry to the laundromat down the street to avoid the creepers in the basement and the horrific thought that one might find it's way into one of my loads of laundry - while being laundered - and I would end up with a freshly smelling load of waterbug puree with my gym clothes. But no, it was a great apartment, and I for one was not ready to leave. The turning point came during Mother's Day weekend the following year, 2001.
It started one innocent Thursday evening. I had gone to sleep for the night, when at about 3 AM I woke up to some really strange music coming from outside of my window. My window was open because it was unseasonably warm, and because the window in my room also led to the fire escape, I had no screen - only a gate. I have to talk about the music for a second, because it's one of those things that I still think of to this day whenever a conversation turns to the supernatural or something like that. The music was odd - not live music (someone practicing an instrument), and not the radio (I don't think) - it was more like circus music or some old music playing from someone's Victrola. But it was goofy music, and after initially waking me up, made me wonder what on earth it was and where it was coming from at 3 AM?!.
While I was wondering about the music, it came. I don't know if I heard it, or just knew. I never saw it come in my window, I just knew it was there. The next thing I know, the bug is in my room, has dashed from the window behind my bed, and was now hiding out behind my night stand on the other side of the room. At some point I had run to the bathroom to get the Raid - and turn on my light. I was hoping, praying, that Ryan or Jeff would wake up, but for some reason, I didn't want to be a girl about it and wake them. And maybe I didn't want to scare the bug into running into the depths of my closet never to be seen again until I went to put on the shirt the next day and ewwhatsthatmovingonmyneck. While I was perched on my bed - Raid in hand - waiting for the bug to show itself again, I realized that the odd music had at some point stopped. I've always felt that that music was playing for the sole reason of waking me up that night.
At some point, the bug tried to make a run for it, and I used nearly half that can of Raid to make sure it died right there. You have to. Even if it doesn't take a half a can to kill it, the bug can run/fly/transport itself across the room in the time it takes to feel the effect of a spray or two or ten. So the idea is to basically drown it with something, because I swear these things have built up a resistance to Raid over the years. And they may have wings, but they don't have gills. Yet.
I barely slept another wink that night. I wouldn't even lay down on the bed until the sun started coming up, and then I had to get up for work around 7:30. It was awful. That was the weekend I became a changed woman.
It was Mother's Day weekend, and both Ryan and Jeff had gone home to visit their parents, so I was alone in the apartment. I think I had slept at Hilary's that Fri or Sat night, because I was still so traumatized by everything. But I remember Saturday was a nice, sunny day, and I was in my room reading a book, trying to forget my last 48 hours. Then, in the silence of my reading, I heard it. Scratching. Coming from my closet. Faint, but distinct. I almost lost it. This couldn't be happening. Again. To me. Alone. And in my closet, which meant if I opened the door it could come flying out, or fall on my head, or crawl over my feet. Ugh. There was no way I could face that. I truly would have had to kill myself.
So, I did what any girl would do in NYC, I went to my neighbors. And because why on earth would I know the neighbors in my building (?), I went to the neighbors I did know - the guys who ran the liquor store downstairs. Finally, being an alcoholic has some benefits! One of the guys came back up with me, and stood with me for ten minutes as we both looked at my closet and the sounds that WEREN'T coming from it now that there was an audience. Too exhausted and exasperated to even feel sheepish, I had no choice but to let the guy go back downstairs, as I pondered where I was going to sleep that night and how could I pack when I couldn't even open my closet?
So, as luck would have it, as soon as he walked down all five flights of stairs and I was alone again, the scratching started again. From my closet. So I went BACK down to the liquor store, brought the guy BACK up to my apartment with me, and watched as he personally removed every single article of clothing from my closet so we could find this f***er. And guess what? There was nothing there! Of course there wasn't. Because it turned out the noise was coming from mice! Mice in my walls! That's a new one!
You know you've been in the city too long when you'll fall over yourself with relief that the vermin problem of the day is only some abstract moving concept in the walls. Something you don't have to look at or ever see, something that won't expand its wings to a 6 inch diameter and fly at you armed with a personal vendetta, knowing that no matter how many bottles of Raid you may keep, it will be the only one of the two of you to survive that next terror attack.
I spent a good deal of time in New York talking about waterbugs, thinking about waterbugs, wondering when the next time a waterbug would make me consider suicide a better alternative than going to sleep for the night.
My first waterbug scare was in my kitchen on 86th street. I went to open one of the cupboards, and the thing flew out at me, flew across the room. I must have had Nick or Ryan kill it. We always had a supply of Raid - since we knew they were in the building from the ones which scampered or settled for life in the laundry room/basement, and were aware that you can NEVER EVER EVER step on a waterbug because on the off change you actually manage to squish it, the female's eggs will scatter everywhere and then settle and hatch and haunt for years to come. So, Raid, then, yes. Great to spray in the kitchen, by the way, especially when you're cooking.
Later that summer we saw a couple in the bathroom. I think Ryan or Nick was in the shower one time, and I saw another in the tub which we never used. Luckily, the boys always seemed to be around to take care of the problem. Not always, of course.
The next summer, when Kristin had moved in, she woke up one morning to a scratching in her closet. Scratching. The sound of a bug moving across the floor actually woke her up from sleeping. She got up, saw what it was, and started screaming. The thing ran out the door and down our hallway. I'm not sure what happened next, but Chachi had stayed over and managed to corner the thing (or so we thought) with some newspaper or a bag and threw it in the garbage or something. At that point, Ryan came stumbling out of his room, What happened? Always the pretty boy.
You'd think by this point I might have wanted to move out of the apartment. I had already started taking my laundry to the laundromat down the street to avoid the creepers in the basement and the horrific thought that one might find it's way into one of my loads of laundry - while being laundered - and I would end up with a freshly smelling load of waterbug puree with my gym clothes. But no, it was a great apartment, and I for one was not ready to leave. The turning point came during Mother's Day weekend the following year, 2001.
It started one innocent Thursday evening. I had gone to sleep for the night, when at about 3 AM I woke up to some really strange music coming from outside of my window. My window was open because it was unseasonably warm, and because the window in my room also led to the fire escape, I had no screen - only a gate. I have to talk about the music for a second, because it's one of those things that I still think of to this day whenever a conversation turns to the supernatural or something like that. The music was odd - not live music (someone practicing an instrument), and not the radio (I don't think) - it was more like circus music or some old music playing from someone's Victrola. But it was goofy music, and after initially waking me up, made me wonder what on earth it was and where it was coming from at 3 AM?!.
While I was wondering about the music, it came. I don't know if I heard it, or just knew. I never saw it come in my window, I just knew it was there. The next thing I know, the bug is in my room, has dashed from the window behind my bed, and was now hiding out behind my night stand on the other side of the room. At some point I had run to the bathroom to get the Raid - and turn on my light. I was hoping, praying, that Ryan or Jeff would wake up, but for some reason, I didn't want to be a girl about it and wake them. And maybe I didn't want to scare the bug into running into the depths of my closet never to be seen again until I went to put on the shirt the next day and ewwhatsthatmovingonmyneck. While I was perched on my bed - Raid in hand - waiting for the bug to show itself again, I realized that the odd music had at some point stopped. I've always felt that that music was playing for the sole reason of waking me up that night.
At some point, the bug tried to make a run for it, and I used nearly half that can of Raid to make sure it died right there. You have to. Even if it doesn't take a half a can to kill it, the bug can run/fly/transport itself across the room in the time it takes to feel the effect of a spray or two or ten. So the idea is to basically drown it with something, because I swear these things have built up a resistance to Raid over the years. And they may have wings, but they don't have gills. Yet.
I barely slept another wink that night. I wouldn't even lay down on the bed until the sun started coming up, and then I had to get up for work around 7:30. It was awful. That was the weekend I became a changed woman.
It was Mother's Day weekend, and both Ryan and Jeff had gone home to visit their parents, so I was alone in the apartment. I think I had slept at Hilary's that Fri or Sat night, because I was still so traumatized by everything. But I remember Saturday was a nice, sunny day, and I was in my room reading a book, trying to forget my last 48 hours. Then, in the silence of my reading, I heard it. Scratching. Coming from my closet. Faint, but distinct. I almost lost it. This couldn't be happening. Again. To me. Alone. And in my closet, which meant if I opened the door it could come flying out, or fall on my head, or crawl over my feet. Ugh. There was no way I could face that. I truly would have had to kill myself.
So, I did what any girl would do in NYC, I went to my neighbors. And because why on earth would I know the neighbors in my building (?), I went to the neighbors I did know - the guys who ran the liquor store downstairs. Finally, being an alcoholic has some benefits! One of the guys came back up with me, and stood with me for ten minutes as we both looked at my closet and the sounds that WEREN'T coming from it now that there was an audience. Too exhausted and exasperated to even feel sheepish, I had no choice but to let the guy go back downstairs, as I pondered where I was going to sleep that night and how could I pack when I couldn't even open my closet?
So, as luck would have it, as soon as he walked down all five flights of stairs and I was alone again, the scratching started again. From my closet. So I went BACK down to the liquor store, brought the guy BACK up to my apartment with me, and watched as he personally removed every single article of clothing from my closet so we could find this f***er. And guess what? There was nothing there! Of course there wasn't. Because it turned out the noise was coming from mice! Mice in my walls! That's a new one!
You know you've been in the city too long when you'll fall over yourself with relief that the vermin problem of the day is only some abstract moving concept in the walls. Something you don't have to look at or ever see, something that won't expand its wings to a 6 inch diameter and fly at you armed with a personal vendetta, knowing that no matter how many bottles of Raid you may keep, it will be the only one of the two of you to survive that next terror attack.
Labels: New York
posted by Lori @ 7:37 PM
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