Not for the Squeamish Reader


A few summers ago my parents were living with us as my dad recovered from having his knee replaced.  Mike, my husband, had been out front working in the yard around the bushes putting down mulch and making the yard look presentable.  This would cause us issues later since he actually was unloading tiny visitors to our yard.

The next morning I got up and noticed a dark line on the floor of the dining room and was repulsed to find out that that line was actually a line of ants seeming to traverse under the dining room carpet and coming up onto the wood floor of the kitchen eating area.  And let me tell you, this wasn’t five ants- this was 5,000,000 ants and it gave me heebee jeebees that only can be cured by a call to the exterminator!

So, I got on the phone and called the local pest control service, and soon there was a knock on my door and the Bug Guy was standing there.  Let me just describe him as looking like Fred Mertz (do you remember “I Love Lucy” – Lucy and Ricky, Fred Mertz and Ethel the neighbors?- if you can’t picture Fred, think about Danny DeVito only about 1.75 inches taller).  He was the biggest dweeb in the world, about 60 years old with a large juicy mole on the side of his neck.  Icky oh icky!!!!!  He started talking to me in the bug vernacular like, “Well, ma’am ya got yer carpenter ants and yer fire ants and yer sugar ants, but I think these here are just your basic brown ants.” or something equally intellectually stimulating.  Oh man, a short, geeky bug man talking about frass really does it for me.

Mom and Dad were sitting in the living room and Frank (bug guy) began his spraying.  “Ma’am, what I can offer you in service is quite a good deal.  Because my company cares for you and yer family we can offer you a special deal, only to our most valuable customers.”  Yeah, blah blah blah, I’ve heard that pick up line before.

About half way through his spraying routine Frank says to me and I quote, “Ma’am I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, but I have a bit of the runs and I wonder if I might use your bathroom.”  OH MY GOSH!!!  Are you kidding me?  Now some strange bug man is going to use my john!!!!!?  So, what are my options?  No, he stands there and soils himself or yes, and my bathroom is stinkified???  I picked the latter.

Frank went in and was in the bathroom on the main floor, where he didn’t turn on the fan and we could proceed to hear his every ‘movement’ for the next 15-20 minutes.  None of us needed to hear that.  He came out and Oh, my sweet Lord!!!   It was as if an opossum had crawled inside, exploded and putrefied all in that short time.  Trust me, I could barely pay him as he finished the job as I was gagging and heaving the entire time.  My poor dad, who was trapped with his leg in a special knee brace, was not able to run for his life and it was hell in the house.  It made the monkey cage in hot mid-July seem like it smelled good!   The entire main floor was now a toxic waste fall-out zone.  My mother said, “Well, that settles that, we have to get out of here and go out to eat tonight.”  I’m not sure what was worse, Frank and his problem, the 5,000,000 ants, or the smell of the bug killer that also was permeating the air.

Now, fast forward a year and try to forget about the incident and Frank the bug guy.  I know I did! We had been noticing that we were having a lot of spiders in our basement and main floor.  Our town is built on several natural springs and it is really damp around here and bugs seem to flourish.  We decided to call the bug company and have them come spray.  You can probably guess what came next- they sent Frank.  As I answered the door he said, “Oh!  I think I done you before, I’m Frank. Here to service you?”

I beg your pardon!!?!

Anyway, he came in and proceeded to tell me that his “little woman” worked at a hospital and, “We made a pact early on not to bring the job home and freak the other one out with what we sees in our professions,” and some story about how a rat came up a toilet one time in a business here in town and how he valiantly trapped it when stronger and more virile men ran like little girls.  Okay, whatever.  About half way through the job he stopped and looked at me with that deer-in-the-headlights kinda look and said, “I have a sore toe and they gave me ‘The Antibiotic’ and it gives me a bit of the runs.  Might I trouble you to use yer restroom?”

Holy moly, all hell broke loose again and what can you do about it??????  My first thought was that I think it is wrong for workmen to use the bathroom on the job!!!  My next thought was that I was gonna die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I truly can’t even describe it to you, a black fog started to roll out under the bathroom door before he even finished.  He stepped out into the haze and said, “Uhhh, ya might want to run the fan in there.”  YA THINK???????????

Guess who is coming to my house again today?  It’s that time of year, but then again, “He’s done me before.”

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