TueDuesday: The Pitter Patter of Little Feet: How to Thwart a Roach Invasion

Welcome back to TueDuesday: A Weekly Series on Self Improvement (and Self Preservation), where I’ll share some of the hard-earned tips and tricks that have made their way up my sleeve after well over a decade of living alone in the city. 

TueDuesday goes out to all of you who have ever bravely moved into your very own apartment, only to encounter a cockroach the size of a well-fed hamster.  Barefoot.  In the middle of the night.  To all the ambitious drinkers who ever wanted to score the bartender’s number (and to the many of us who have failed, only to bravely try again).  To the pasta fiends.  To the Facebook lurkers.  To the happy, the hopeful, and the possibly hung-over guys and gals like me, navigating the city streets – or the country roads – without benefit of a map or a significant other.  Whether you’re chronically single, newly separated or happily coupled up and just looking for a way to make the occasional table for one a little more fun, there’s something here for you.

Like what you see?  Pass it along!  Strongly disagree?  Say so in the comments!  (Respectfully, please; after growing up with the last name Blewett, my ego can only take so much.)  Have an idea for a future TueDuesday post?  Send it over!  And keep in touch, via Twitter @LeahKBlewett and Instagram @leahkblewett.

Happy TueDuesday!

TueDuesday, July 7, 2015

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet: How to Thwart a Roach Invasion

Years ago, while living alone in Philadelphia, I was awakened at about 3 a.m. by the sound of my cat doing…something.  There was skittering and scratching, and this from a not particularly active feline whose mousing days were, even then, long behind her.  I flicked on the light beside my bed and looked over to find my mild-mannered kitty putting up a convincing fight against a roach that could have been a teenaged guinea pig.

Horrified, I leapt out of bed, then back onto the bed, because ARGHH BARE FEET, then back off the bed and, with trepidation, into the kitchen.  Scanning my meager rack of pots, I decided I’d never fully recover from roach guts on the underside of my favorite (read: only) frying pan, and anyway, aren’t you not supposed to squish them, because then the babies come out??  At this point, Madison was losing interest in her plaything, which I suspected was not long from beating a hasty exit into my bookshelf and forcing me to tear my apartment apart in terror in the middle of the night, so I grabbed a plastic pint container that most recently held wonton soup, edged back into the main room of my studio apartment, and wielded my MSG-coated weapon: I trapped the little fucker under Tupperware.

You guys, the roach was so big that it moved the Tupperware.  You truly haven’t lived until you’ve witnessed Roachzilla hauling ass towards the crack in the floor and dragging a clear-ish pint cup along with it.  Beyond repulsed, I grabbed a Norton’s Anthology of American Literature off the bookshelf and stacked all 1,200 pages of it on top of the container.  Roach: contained.  Leah: pale, shivering, indecisive.  What the hell do I do now??

I did what any sane 20-something living alone would do.  I wrapped myself up in a robe and marched down the hall to the elevator, took it down to the lobby, and pretty-please begged the doorman to help me.  He came upstairs, marveled at my make-shift roach trap, then unceremoniously lifted both book and cup and stomped the creepy little thing underfoot.

“Oh, my God!  Doesn’t it let the babies out when you squish them??”

He assured me that it did not (“That’s only the black ones; this is a brown one,”) and wished me a good night.  I put plastic bags over both my hands, unspooled about 10 feet of Bounty for protection, swaddled the wet heap of roach guts, and tied it off in both plastic bags, then took it down to the garbage room, because no fucking way was I sleeping with that nightmare in my apartment, no matter how dead it looked or how many layers of Quicker Thicker Picker Upper were between me and its still-twitching hairy roach legs.

So you see, I know a thing or two about creepy crawlies.  And while I’ve learned some good tricks in the intervening years since my After-Hours Philadelphia Cockroach Showdown, I remain as repulsed as ever by the idea that they are, occasionally, found in just about all city apartments.  (Remember that the next time you’re watching House Hunters and coveting some charming brownstone.  Those things have basements.)  What follows are a few of my favorite tricks for showing los cucarachas just who’s boss.

First, look for signs of six-legged life.  Little heaps of black dust in corners of cabinets?  You might have company.  The internet alleges that roaches hate tea tree oil, but I’m not so sure; these things can survive a nuclear explosion, and I’m supposed to believe that I can get rid of them with the same stuff I used to heal my belly button piercing when I was 16?  I want stronger weaponry.  Those electric, plug-in repellants are actually surprisingly effective, though limited in range; if you’re worried about bugs in more than one room, I’d pick up a couple, just to be safe.  Prevention is also key: if there are gaps around your windows or doors, seal the crevices with caulk.  The same goes for gaps around your bathroom sink, and with a resounding hat tip to my Aunt Kelly, a mesh sink strainer in your kitchen will protect the drain, because yes, roaches are absolutely gross enough to hang out down there waiting for the last of your greasy grey dish water to wash by, then scale the pipe.  Blech.  If you’re still noticing unwanted houseguests, it’s a good idea to see if your building offers exterminator services.  Many co-op boards have a guy on call, and in some cities, exterminators are required to visit all rental units once a month.  I heart NY.  Otherwise, it doesn’t hurt to bring in a pro, and don’t worry about seeming gross – if you’re the one calling the exterminator, there’s no way you’re the nastiest apartment he’s seen even today, let alone of all time.  Hoarders are real, folks.  Finally, try not to be too squicked.  Yes, roaches are horrifying, especially when they catch you by surprise (shout out to the dearly departed little punk who thought my headboard was a good place to scamper – SQUISHHHHHHHHHH!!!), but at the end of the day, they’re just another city dweller trying to eek out a living.  And we’re much, much bigger than they are.  Thank God.

Next Week: Is it hot in here??  It can’t just be me, because we’re learning Things You Can Do With Your Toaster Oven!!!