Out, out #&$* spot!

I have been visited by a ghost of my past - namely, the large, horrific cockroach of doom. This time he sought me at my place of work - the last place I expected him. And yet there he was this afternoon, sitting in the middle of the hallway, standing between me and my 2nd cup of coffee of the day. (Fine, who am I kidding? 3rd cup of coffee. But in my defense, Tuesdays are long days.)

The roach was every bit as big and noxious as I remembered him. Fortunately (?) he almost blended into the burnt-orange office carpeting, so I couldn't quite see his disgusting antenae but I'm sure they were there. I swear he looked right at me, and the look in his eyes called out, "Murderer!" It was really quite a Lady MacBeth moment. (That's a Shakespeare reference, y'all. No foolin'.)

I wasn't sure what to do, so I made a face and fearfully stepped over him. I was worried that any other course of action would result in tears and/or screaming, and I figured neither was particularly professional.

When I returned with my coffee, Bugsy was nowhere to be seen. Had I imagined him? After all, it was somewhat incongruous that such a large specimen would be out in the open, mid-day, in my office building. I couldn't decide which was worse: sharing office space with a giant cockroach, or hallucinating about a giant cockroach. Me and my coffee mulled it over for awhile.

Later, on my way to the copy machine, I spotted the roach again, this time perched on the baseboard outside the ladies' room. I kept my distance as he taunted me, reminding me of my past misdeeds to his species. I hope he is gone by tomorrow, though if he is not, his presence in the hallway may be proper incentive for me to give up my coffee habit. That, or find alternative routes to the kitchen.

Multi-Purpose Cleaning Products:
A Consumer Review

 Everyone knows that cleaning products are great for cleaning, but did you also know they are useful for insecticide?

I am writing this entry in the midst of a mild episode of post-traumatic stress disorder: you see, I have just committed murder-by-cleaning-product. The deceased is a cockroach, roughly the size of Milwaukee. Time of death: 8:20pm, EST. Murder scene: my bathtub.

It went down like this: I went into the bathroom and noticed said cockroach, crawling around the edge of the tub. Freaking out ensued (at least on my part; the cockroach remained nonchalant). He was over 3 inches long, including his antennae, which were twitching in a most disgusting manner.

I was reminded of one of my least favorite books, Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, in which the main character wakes up one morning to discover he has become a large cockroach. It was unfortunate that I should think of this book, because it always makes me want to throw up a little. And what I needed at that moment was not to vomit, but to keep a cool head and act decisively.

I backed up and reviewed my options. The creature was far, far too big to be smashed or washed down the drain. Unsure of how to proceed, I started to panic a little. I called my friend Juan for moral support. No answer; I left a tearful message. I called MadDawg. No answer; another tearful message. Still crying, I considered calling my parents, but decided that I needed to go ahead and act on my own on this one.

As the roach seemed pretty slow-moving, I figured I had the advantage on him. I got a piece of cardboard, with the hopes of lifting him on that and then throwing him out the window. However, as soon as I approached with the cardboard, he scuttled away. More tears on my part.

Recalling recent advice from my friend Denise, I grabbed a bottle of Fantastik All Purpose Cleaner, and began to spray the roach. Instead of the desired effect (namely, death), the spray seemed to invigorate the roach. He ran wildly around the bathtub.

I didn't want to do it - but Fantastik's failure left me with little choice. I grabbed a can of Scrubbing Bubbles, and buried the buster under a mound of Fresh Clean Scent antibacterial foam. This completed the dirty deed - the roach had breathed his last. (Just to be safe, I scooped him up on the cardboard, threw him out the window, and made sure the window was locked shut.)

So if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, I recommend you reach for the Scrubbing Bubbles and forget Fantastik. Now though, one question remains: what cleaning product will scrub my conscience clean from the guilt of murder?!