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I try to call the building manager, Elliot, to tell him I've seen more bed bugs. He's not in. I'm told to try calling back later. I didn't say why I was calling.
I call Elliot again. The woman who answers the phone says they're all out to lunch. I say I'll call back.
My coworker and I walk to the hardware store and I buy a caulking gun. It was only $3. We take a nice long lunch break at La Marca. I have the gazpacho.
I make another call to Elliot. The office is closed for the day.
I stop by the laundromat on my way home from work. As I'm shoving fistfuls of quarters into my purse, a girl in a pink smock comes up behind me and starts speaking to me in Spanish. She's not happy. I've gotten away with this so many times before, it hadn't even occurred to me that I should have gone to the bank earlier in the day. She makes me give back the quarters and in exchange for a twenty and a ten. No laundry tonight.
I'm standing on top of my dresser. I raise my arms, the caulking gun in my left hand, and I shout, "Die! Die! Die!" A little dramatic, I guess.
All the furniture is back in place. I've swept and Swiffered the floor. I take a shower and do one of my yoga tapes. I feel great. I think having caulked all the cracks in my room will curb these bugs a lot. I climb into my fresh bed.
I wake up. I apply Cortizone to the welts on my elbow. Two bugs, fat and red with my blood, crawl out from under my pillow. I kill a total of three.
I look up the pest control company's number online. "We receive messages quickly and will get back to you soon," the voicemail says. I leave a message. I should have just called them yesterday.
It's getting light out.
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