There are some things that New Yorkers just know they are going to have to deal with that they can't possibly avoid: Over-crowded 6 trains; that assh*le who stands right in front of you to flag down a cab when it's completely obvious that's what you've been trying to do for the last fifteen minutes; garbage lining the streets that has probably been there since the early sixties; at least one bum per every three city blocks.
But one thing I have never, ever been able to accept is cockroaches. At my first apartment in Queens I'd say we had at least one a month. I wouldn't say that I ever got used to it, but I did perfect the method of standing five feet away from the offending pest and spraying Raid on it for two minutes straight until it died slowly and painfully in a pool of liquid poison. I put it up with this for three and half years. Then I moved to Manhattan.
My first year in Manhattan I lived in a pretty nice building and there were no run ins with bugs. I think that lured me into a false sense of security.
Now I live in a brownstone on the second floor. It always crossed my mind that a cockroach might make its way into my abode one day, but I shrugged it off.
Until last night when I walked into my bathroom to hear the fluttering of wings (those mother-effers should not be able to even TRY to fly!) and saw a cockroach scaling my shower curtain.
I would say this is about how big it was:
That's still pretty big, right? But here is what I saw:
(Note: enlarge to full size for complete effect)
I'm pretty sure I would have rather had found a serial killer in my bathroom wielding two machetes and wearing women's underwear.
I did not scream, but I DID say "OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD" about 50 times as I backed out of the room, slammed the door, and shoved a towel under the crack.
(Fact: cockroaches can get through any space, no matter how small. I knew the towel would be futile but it made me feel better).
Then I called the boyfriend who was asleep (it was 1:30 am at this time) and had a 7:30 call time for a photo shoot the next morning, and begged him to let me come over. He was kind enough to leave his front door cracked open for me. And didn't even strangle me in my sleep for being totally neurotic and waking him up in the middle of the night!
He tried to explain to me over and over again that it was just a bug and did not bite. This was completely lost on me. Hello it's a cockroach! They are EVIL!
Today my best friend was kind enough to come over after work. We looked everywhere and couldn't find it. Then I sprayed Raid in every corner of the apartment. Then we went to dinner.
When I returned after dinner there was the dead cockroach in the middle of my floor on it's back with it's wiry legs sticking up in the air all "WHAT UP YO??"
I immediately called my friend who was kind enough to come back and get rid of the cockroach for me -- by picking it up with a damn paper towel. She is bad. Ass.
So I guess the crisis is averted for now but I'm still pretty shaken and I know this could happen again. Plus I really want to take a shower right now but I'm terrified of a cockroach climbing out of my drain while I'm in there. That's why I'm writing this blog post. Procrastination.
But at least for the time being I'm back to my regular dose of neurotic. I think the boyfriend is thankful for that.
EDIT: I had originally planned to put a picture of a real cockroach of approximate size on here. But I am so effing terrified of them I couldn't even look at pictures without wanting to run screaming into the night. So I figured my less than stellar drawings would suffice.