UPDATE: WE LIVE WE DIE WE LIVE AGAIN! Just got the call from our apartment manager; they will neither be spraying nor fogging (which also lines up with what the professional exterminator recommended), but they will be notifying our neighbors on either side and offer to fog them. Supposedly the landlady was “following OSHA regulations”. Scoff scoff scoff. WE WIN! Not being poisoned foreverrrrr!
Ahhh, victory. How sweet you tasted not twenty four hours ago. So shiny. So chrome.
The bed bugs are not back, fyi, but my shitty landlady has taken their place as a huge fucking pain in the ass.
Yesterday, if you’ll recall, the Orkin man confirmed that we got rid of the bedbugs and that no pesticides were needed. Today, in the middle of meeting with a rep at work, my apartment manager calls. First time, I ignore it. Second time, I excuse myself and pick up. He tells me that they have to use the bug bomb, because the bedbugs could spread! I ask him to explain further, since we had convinced him yesterday that the bombs don’t work and the Orkin man had cleared us. Basically, our landlady is insisting on it.
So I give the apartment manager a stern talking to about how shitty of landlady she is, how she always does the cheap, ineffective thing four or five times and then does the more expensive thing that works, inconveniencing us many times a year, and that we are Not Happy. We can’t stop her, but we are Not Happy.
So then I call Mr. PKB, who talks to the apartment manager, who gets all pissy and accuses us of bringing them in, and then of being dirty and attracting them, and Mr. PKB goes, “It’s not about that. It’s about fixing the problem. These don’t fix the problem, they just spread poison everywhere that could make us sick.” So then the apartment manager tells Mr. PKB to find research supporting this and that he’ll fax it to the landlady. Mr. PKB does. Then he tells Mr. PKB to write a cover letter. Mr. PKB does again. So far, no word.
Mr. PKB also spent some time calling legal services today. They confirmed that she has the right to bomb the apartment, but he is getting an inspector out to the building to look at all the fucked up shit that we’ve been dealing with (mold, cracks in plaster and drywall, peeling paint, etc). They also confirmed that bombs don’t work, that basically the only thing that is effective is heat treatment.
Tomorrow, they may fog our bedroom with ineffective, unnecessary poison that you can’t even get on your skin without calling Poison Control. (Seriously—the warning tells you to rise your skin for 20 minutes and then call poison control.) I may be dead. But we have at least made our shitty landlady’s life a little harder. I also contacted three different places about apartments to view, so we may be giving our notice soon. Fucking yay.
Bedbugs seen: Fucking zero! We are still magical bedbug killers!
New Bites: None! Three mosquito bites, though. All on my hands, oddy.
How Drunk I Got: I’m not drunk yet, but the night is young.
How Much I Spent In My Victory Drunk Haze: Possibly all the goodwill of our neighbors if I start ranting again about how shitty this situation is.
How Paranoid I Currently Feel: 7/10. I’m not worried about the bedbugs, but I’m superparanoid that they’ll bomb not just just the bedroom but all the living room, and we’ll have to get new cushions for the furniture and get rid of all my handknit blankets.
Odd Side Effects: We got stocked up on Rest Easy, so the bedroom smell very, very strongly of cinnamon. So strongly that you can smell it before you get in to the apartment. I also fucking hate my horrible, terrible person of a landlady and might impulsively move somewhere not great.
Total Cost So Far: ALL OF Mr. PKB’S TIME AND DIGNITY. Also our sanity.