****Guest post from Allison of AA****
You guys. I have to tell you about my night. It is currently 10:42 p.m. and I am sitting at my kitchen table; the exact spot I was sitting in at approximately 9:30 p.m. when I first saw it.
I’LL START FROM THE BEGINNING.
I took a later train home from work tonight and walked in my door around 9. I was starving at this point, so before I could even change out of my work clothes — I heated up the (amazing, homemade) turkey soup my mother had given to me this week to have for dinner. Perfect for the stupid cold I’ve been nursing since Monday, right? Right. I thought so too.
Once it was ready, I sat down at my kitchen table, turned on the TV, turned on my computer, and started to multitask. Eating, browsing the web, AND listening to CNN all at the same time?!?! She does it all, folks.
Then, it happened. You know when you get that feeling like you see something in the corner of your eye? I kept feeling that. Is my Christmas tree moving? What am I sensing?
I look to my right and take a glimpse at my tree. Nothing. All copacetic here. But I sensed the movement again. So I looked…up.
At my ceiling.
And there it was.
A MOTHER#$%&ING COCKROACH.
(Nope, this was not him. I was too terrified to get a photo of the actual terrifying intruder)
OH. MY. GOD. Did I mention he (I am assuming he’s a ‘he’ whatever) WAS ON MY CEILING?!?!
Lionel Richie dancing on the ceiling? Acceptable. Cockroach crawling on my ceiling? NOT ACCEPTABLE.
“Holy shit, holy shit,” I muttered to myself as I watched this HUGE bug stumble across my ceiling like he had one too many at a cockroach cocktail party.
And then he fell.
And I lost him.
And I subsequently lost my shit.
So I did what any mature 32-year-old independent woman would do: I called my parents.
The gist of the phone call:
MOM! OHMYGOD. There is a HUGE cockroach in my apartment. It was on the ceiling and fell and now I don’t know where it is!!!
Oh, no! Okay well call your super tomorrow and —
No. Nope. I can’t stay here. Sorry, nope. Can dad come? I need this thing to be killed. I’m sorry.
Sigh. To quote my wonderful, amazing, PATIENT (only with me), generous, loving father:
“The things we do for our kids.”
Because I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, that man came here. To his grown ass daughter’s apartment, twenty minutes away, because she was being irrational and panicking about an insect.
His journey here seemed like four days, so here’s what I did while I waited for him:
1. I stood on my kitchen chair:
2. I texted two of my guy friends and all they did was crack jokes and laugh at me:
3. I called my friend Matt (yep, the one who wrote this) who gave me such inspiring and thoughtful encouragement during this difficult time such as:
“You did NOT actually make your dad come there. You really crossed a line this time.”
“In order to answer your call I had to take off my headset, in which I was playing VIDEO GAMES ON, and yet I’m still the more mature person in this conversation.”
**NOTE TO SELF: GET NEW FRIENDS.
Finally, my dad showed up. I hung up the phone, opened the door and there he was. He had a look on his face that could only be described as “I love you but want to murder you right now.”
In his hands? A “tennis racket” that is actually NOT a tennis racket, but is a bug zapper you’re supposed to swat at bugs (probbbbbably not meant for 6-inch cockroaches) and a flashlight. If you know my father — a flashlight is required for all tasks.
We’re never gonna find this thing, he keeps telling me. But I am hopeful. You can do this, Tom. You were in Vietnam.
He shines his little flashlight around my Christmas tree and assures me he sees nothing.
He then starts slowly walking around my studio apartment, making his way towards the bathroom. I stay back. I’m still terrified/grossed out/on the verge of projectile vomiting.
“Um, Ali? Bring me a paper towel.”
AND WHADDYA KNOW, THAT SUCKER WAS IN MY BATHTUB. THE PLACE WHERE I SHOWER DAILY AND GO TO CLEANSE MYSELF.
…and my father ‘Seal Team Six’ed’ his ass.
I went there.
Look, am I proud of how I behaved tonight? Not entirely. I like to think of myself as a modern woman who can handle things and doesn’t need the help of a man or family member… or anyone, quite frankly. But there’s a short list of things that I can’t and won’t do, and one of them is deal with ROACHES. They are ugly, they are big, they are revolting, and they are NOT welcome in my apartment. I DON’T CARE HOW IMPRESSIVE THEIR UPSIDE-DOWN-CEILING-WALKING IS.
While I’m relieved that the intruder was captured and killed, I’m still not quite sure how I’m gonna sleep tonight. I’ve been itchy for the past hour and I’m inevitably going to have some kind of gross dream about this. But regardless of the awful creature ruining my night (and my dinner), it only reassured me of something I already knew:
I HAVE THE GREATEST DAD ON EARTH.
I owe you.
W+P editor note: Read more of this hilarious New Yorker’s antics on her blog “AA” (not to be confused with, well you know). I particularly love this one on adult-y things that just aren’t going to happen (#TheStruggleIsReal).