Holy shit holy shit holy shit…
Bed bugs are the last thing that I ever want to experience in all four years of my college career.
No, correction: they should never be experienced at all in life.
A couple of nights ago, my roommates discovered in their beds those blasted insects, red and angry and laying their eggs all over the goddamn place. My roommates were freaking out, and I was freaking out as well. Mind you, this was happening during the night, and I was about to go to sleep knowing well that my bed was also under threat.
I had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked my bed for signs of bed bugs. None. But that still didn’t comfort me when I finally turned in, sleeping fitfully and hyper-paranoid.
The next morning, I went to the landlord/manager of our apartment and reported the issue. He was nice about it, and gave me the paperwork and information about how to resolve this problem. Basically, the professionals will come in some time next week (landlord said Thursday, but we’re pushing for earlier) and before then we have to strip our sheets, vacuum like crazy, and move our personal belongings out so that the workers can come and extinguish those awful critters. We won’t have access to our apartment for about four hours; a little inconvenient, but definitely worth it in the long run, especially when we’re completely bed-bug free.
Until then, I remain paranoid as hell. My other two roommates have migrated to the living room, sleeping in sleeping bags until this dilemma gets resolved.
Fuck bed bugs. They need to go die.
– The Finicky Cynic