Day 34
I have moved from denial, to anger, to depression (I skipped bargaining), to acceptance, and then back to anger. The five stages of tragedy may not account adequately for my anger.
We are now past New York's official deadline to be rid of these creatures. Bedbugs in this city are typically listed as a class B violation, which gives the owner 30 days to correct the problem.
Be that as it may, our building owner is having a hell of a time correcting them. Since I can't yell at bugs, I took out some aggression on the pest-control company when the exterminator was late today.
I never actually got through to a representative, which may have been the company avoiding me. My first call was perfectly polite: "Hi, this is Nick, you're a little late. Please call to confirm your guy is coming." That sort of thing.
But as the morning wore on, I contemplated the possibility that they might not show up and the directionless anger that I want to direct at the bugs began to creep into my voice: "It's around 11:00 and I haven't heard back from you. Remember me? You sure can't seem to remember appointments. Where the hell are you!?"
From there the third, more impassioned, message was inevitable. Imagine taking the day off to wait for a cable guy who never shows. Now add the gnawing fear of gnawing insects, and you can see why I lost control.
Message three was approximately this: "Hey there (unprintable), it's Nick. It's 1:00 pm and I haven't heard back from you. I don't know whether it's your (unprintable) receptionist's fault or if you just can't figure out how to operate a phone. I hope you all get bedbugs and then see how it feels. Go (unprintable) yourselves."
The exterminator finally showed up around 2:30. The extermination company never returned my call.
Day 37
At a certain point, people just start to get used to things. World War I infantrymen probably developed some sense of familiarity with the trenches and likely even began to perceive their days as 'normal.' To an emergency room doctor, an 'emergency' is just a day at the office.
Despite my anger, even our bug-laden living situation is finally normalizing. This process started first as a change in identity: I now think of myself as 'the guy with bedbugs.' It's how I introduce myself. Maybe it's not the first thing I say, but it will come up in the first five minutes of a conversation. I am taking an acting class and in the first session I said "hey, I am Nick and I have bedbugs," as if I was in some particularly gross AA session. When I hear someone mention bedbugs in a conversation at a table next to me, I feel obliged to chime in.
Bedbugs have become my social icebreaker. They are not a very good social icebreaker. They actually tend to make conversation more halting and awkward; an icemaker, I suppose.
My home life has also changed. It used to be that when I needed a post it or a paper clip, I would check the shelf with office supplies. If I needed a file, it would be in my filing cabinet. Movies were on the shelves. Now, when I need to find our copy of the lease, I dig through the paperwork on the floor in the hall. The paperclips are on top of the stack of DVD's; the movies are under the paperclips.
While I am tempted to reassemble my room and my office (which are the same place), I realize there is every chance that the bugs will be back again so I have stopped trying to create a livable space and now just settle for someplace with interior heating.
Day 38
It's possible that I am allergic to the new pesticides. More likely though, is that the bugs are still plaguing us, but have learned new methods of camouflage. I haven't found any new bugs since the exterminator was here, but I woke up with red marks that could either be from bedbugs, an allergy, or generated by the fact that I keep poking myself to see if I have any bites.
Day 39
Our landlord, we discovered today, knew this apartment had bugs. The previous tenants moved out because of the bedbugs. The whole building - minus our apartment - was sprayed for bedbugs in the months after we moved in. No one mentioned this to us.
I am not happy to learn this. In fact, the last time I was similarly 'not happy,' I was twelve and threw one of my parents kitchen chairs off our front staircase. I have obviously grown up since then, but it is only because I fear disturbing other tenants that I have not thrown something heavy from our window.
Five stages be damned, I'm sticking with anger.