Day One, Day Two

Usually I believe in cautious optimism, but today:

FUCK YEAH WE ARE MAGICAL BED BUG DEFEATING WIZARDS OF MAGIC!

So today the Orkin man was supposed to come spray, per our apartment manager. I had work at 9, and around 10 I see a series of texts from Mr. PKB telling me that the apartment manager was now saying that they were going to bomb it instead, because spraying would be $400. We’re both pissed. The bombs don’t work, first of all, and secondly, I am extremely sensitive to my immediate environment, and I really didn’t want to be in a bedroom coated in dangerous pesticides. So I call the apartment manager and he gets weirdly pissy with me about it (“How do you know the bombs don’t work? How do you even know it’s bedbugs? Were you traveling recently?”). Mr. PKB and I confer and agree that we absolutely don’t want to bomb the apartment and we’ll insist on spraying.

Then Mr. PKB realizes that I took his keys with me to work accidentally. So I run home, and while I’m there we bag up everything in the bedroom besides the bedding, books, and printer, and throw it in the closet in a show of good faith. Mr. PKB has talked the apartment manager into having the Orkin man inspect the apartment before we take any further action, and with strict instructions to ask lots of questions and not let the apartment manager do anything without our explicit okay, I go back to work.

Mr. PKB ends up having to sit our manager down in his apartment for a polite but stern talking-to, where he explains that we know what we’re talking about and that what needs to be done is inspection and spray, not a probably-ineffective bomb. Ridiculous that he had to do it, but there you go.

Several hours later, I get a beautiful text: the Orkin man was incredibly impressed with our prevention and extermination efforts, and confirms that we are, for all knowable purposes, clear. He tells Mr. PKB to steam the base of the walls every day for two or three days just to be on the safe side, and peaces out.

Bedbugs seen: Mr. PKB saw one little baby one as he was steaming the base of the walls, but no signs of others.

New Bites: NONE MOTHERFUCKERS FUCKING ZERO NEW BED BUG BITES

How Drunk I Got: Only drunk on the power of victory!

How Much I Spent In My Victory Drunk Haze: Nothing, bitches! Mr. PKB got us In-N-Out for dinner. I also spent $16 on tickets for a monologue slam.

How Paranoid I Currently Feel: 2/10. I know they could come back. I know they could be waiting. But the Orkin man said we were clear, so I’m going to relegate the paranoia to the inevitable “bed bugs on my face” dreams.

Odd Side Effects: Our bedroom is in weird disarray, and most of our stuff is in the closet in garbage bags. Also, now that I’m not being eaten by bedbugs, the mosquitoes have returned in full itchy force. (This is why it was so hard to figure out there were bedbugs initially, because they happened in the middle of some combination of stress hives and mosquito bites. This has not been a fun summer for my body.)

Not odd but sweet: the friends who are staying with us this weekend both emailed back and were like, “bedbugs can happen to anyone, we’re sure it’s fine, don’t worry.” Yay, friends!

Total Cost So Far: $490

WE WIN! WE WIN AT LIFE!