The Exterminator

We moved into our new apartment last weekend. It has wonderful heat (unlike the exploding gas stove heater in our last place), is bright, and well-located. The move was easy, since we were moving a half-a-block from one furnished apartment to another. Almost as soon as we finished unpacking, however, we noticed a cockroach in the bathroom. It was small and not so terrible. We just killed it and moved on. That night we saw more cockroaches in the bathroom and the kitchen. No matter how many we killed, they didn't seem to go away. After two nights of dancing around cockroaches on our way to the bathroom, we decided we'd had enough, so Aaron complained to our new landlord. He gave us spray, which seemed to us like a band-aid for a broken arm, but when he came to see our roach problem for himself no cockroaches were to be found.

Yesterday, we noticed a congregation of cockroaches on the stove and kitchen counters. After some reconnaissance, Aaron discovered that there was a colony in the side of our oven. This morning, he went to our landlord (who owns the store below us) and demanded a better solution. The landlord promised to call an exterminator to take care of the roaches once and for all.

The exterminator arrived around 6pm this evening escorted by a boy who works at our landlord's store. I couldn't quite believe that he was the exterminator when he arrive because he looked so different from exterminators in the States. Generally, when I think of an exterminator, I think of a guy named Carl who works for Terminex, wearing a brown, one-piece jumpsuit with his name sewn onto his chest. His weapon is a can that he totes in his left hand connected to a long, metal hose, from which he sprays poison in his right. This Syrian exterminator arrived looking ready for a night out on the town. He wore black pants, had black, pointy dress shoes, and sported a collared, polyester shirt, with a grey swirly pattern on it. He carried a red carry-on suitcase from which he extracted what looked like a gun with a long, pointed nozzle. He used the gun to place little brown dots all over the stove, the kitchen cabinets, and around various parts of the bathroom. We made sure that the stuff wasn’t toxic for humans, which he proved by dabbing some onto his tongue. Aaron asked him some more about how the roach poison works. As I listened to the explanation I thought I had to be misunderstanding since I kept thinking I was hearing the word for sex in Arabic. It turns out I was right—the poison “attracts” the roaches (it’s from France), and then they eat it, die, eat each other, die, etc... We should be roach free within the month! Until then, there will be a bunch of horny roaches crawling around our bathroom and kitchen.

Anybody want to visit?