Monday, November 27, 2006
1:30 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
Saturday, November 25, 2006
It's been two weeks. The unfinished burritos and dried out linguini have decomposed from hardened encrustations into wet, glistening stews of sentient rot. The sinks are unapproachable. I've relegated myself to purchasing canned soda. Water is stricken from my diet by proxy of unavailability.
The fruit flies are still breeding. Their population grows exponentially every day. My kitchen is overrun, enswarmed. I have to clench my mouth shut and pinch my nose just to approach the fridge. The alternative is to eat or inhale several of the insects, even during a brief five second visit to the kitchen.
I can't take this anymore. Tomorrow, I'll deal with it. Right now, I'm going to my sanctuary, my bedroom. Oh God. There's a few in here, too. They must've found the ventilation system. Fuck.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
I have two choices. Blame somebody and start a fight, or correct this problem. There's nobody else home right now for me to blame. Yelling won't fix this anyways. It was so long ago that the kitchen was serviceable that I can't remember who made these dishes. I work so much that I rarely eat at home anymore. I drink here though, and some of these open bottles are certainly my responsibility. The soup pan was probably me. It looks ancient. The linguini? The burritos? The hot peppers? Somebody else. I'm not going to blame anyone. I'm not going to get angry. I'm going to get chemicals.
I'm back from the grocery store. I have ammonia, surgical masks, latex gloves, garbage bags, fly tape, paper plates, paper towels, disinfectant spray, and diet grapefruit soda. I'm ready for this. I hope we have a lot of empty garbage cans outside.
The garbage cans are full, and I haven't even touched the kitchen yet. I removed seven bags of filthy garbage that lay piled by the fire escape door for a month. The fruit flies were having a party here until I moved their breeding trenches. Still, they swarm. Fumes might help. Yeah. I'll splash ammonia around and choke the little fuckers.
There's even more fruit flies in the kitchen. Hundreds. Thousands? I'm not doing the dishes in this. Even with my mask, they'll still get into my eyes. Under my eyelids. On my tear ducts. Maybe even in my ear canals. No. Not a fucking chance. Extreme measures must be taken. My roommates may be furious when they discover what I've done.
I don't care. They had their chances. They've had hours and days and weeks. I've been working two jobs this whole time, barely home, and even then just to sleep. They left things this way. If they hate my solution, tough shit. Their chances have expired, just like this food.
Pots and pans. Plates and forks. Cheese graters, Foreman grills, teacups, and spatulas. Into the garbage bags. Crash bang boom, porcelain and china, glass and silver. Goodbye. My divine black plastic (with easy cinching action!) swallows them all up.
Down I go, from the fire escape, to the sidewalk, and finally, to the overfilled trash bins and dumpsters. I wedge the bags wherever I can, and after that, I stack them. Bags and bags. Most of the swarm follows.
The kitchen is empty but for the shallow grey green water in the sinks and the slime on the countertops. I'm protected by my latex hand condoms, so I reach into the sinks and probe out the muck preventing the water from draining. I finger out the unidentifiable obstructions. Wiggle wiggle squidge smush. It's time for sanitizers and paper towels.
The kitchen is almost beautiful. The last of the flies, the stubborn holdouts, are perched on the cabinet doors, waiting for a new nest to appear in the sinks below. I spray them. They fall. A few escape, which is unfortunate. They'll die soon. Fruit flies primarly breed in ripe fruit and fermenting liquid. Those no longer exist here. However, research has informed me that any film of moisture can be used for egg laying. Even water! I coat the clean sinks with strong chemicals. A bold deterrent! Try to fuck in that! Lay your eggs in my caustic deathpuddles, insectile vermin!
I'm walking around the ballroom, the living room, and the kitchen, seeking hot spots where the flies can hide and multiply. The nauseating little fuckers must be stamped out. I must eradicate them. They're still in the air, so my job is not yet done. Are they just lost, now that I've razed their homes? Will they soon die with no sustenance?
Aha! There! They're converging on one place, their evil little insect fallout shelter. The ferret cage. The ferret has been dead for six months. The cage has stood there in the corner, all this time, full of feces. The cats began shitting in there even when the ferret was still alive, usually when the litterbox overflowed. For six months, a blend of animal shit has been molding in that cage. Finally, my emotions flare. I open the fire escape door, pick up the rather large cage by the legs, and throw it over the rail. It crashes to the concrete, where it explodes. Wood chips, ferret toys, two types of animal shit, a water bottle, shredded newspaper, and a blanket or two scatter with the impact.
I leave it there.
Monday, November 27th, 2006
I just got to work. My phone rang like crazy during the drive here. A roommate. I rarely answer while I'm driving. Too distracting, especially in traffic. He's stopped calling. It's the roommate who owned most of the dishes and the ferret cage. I wonder what he's upset about?
November 27, 2006 3:30 PM, said...
Seesh.........hardcore. I'm glad I don't live with you. I love cooking, but I only get around to washing dishes once or twice a week or until I am out of coffee mugs and that generally takes up to two weeks.
I think that's an explination on why I eat out so much.
November 27, 2006 5:38 PM, said...
Yay Steve! I don't think it was overly harsh. Hey - they've had weeks and weeks. I saw it in its disgusting infancy 3 weeks ago. I can only imagine how it has grown...And dare I say you've got a "little" Tyler in ya.
November 28, 2006 7:39 AM, Mishka said...
I am hoping this is fiction or you might need to get a few shots....great stuff as always.
November 28, 2006 8:57 AM, said...
You guys are dirt bags. This includes you Gi-lo. Clean up after yourselves for fucks sake. Mommy ain't there no more.
November 28, 2006 9:31 AM, Chicken said...
Hey they are lucky you didn't put the cage, trash and dishes in their beds.
Must have update though.
November 28, 2006 9:34 AM, andy said...
Shit, dude, why the hell's he pissed? You did what clearly had to be done. Power to you, my friend. Power....to you.
November 28, 2006 11:04 AM, Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...
Ginger, if they rinsed dirty plates before putting them in the sink, that'd be one thing. Leaving cheese and salsa clumps on them leads to bug breeding if left unchecked.
Anita, yes indeedy.
Mishka, I have a hardy immune system. I hope.
Davey lad, WTF did you think this was about? Not to be a preachy cunt... (well actually, yes, to be that) I work between 72-88 hours each week. It took a holiday to provide me the time and energy for this chemical assault.
Chicken, that approach would lead to all tenant sleeping in ancient salsa.
Andy, I was a proud man watching football in a cleanish home on Sunday. Oh yes.
November 28, 2006 11:13 AM, said...
SO, what can I do to get you to clean my apartment ?
November 28, 2006 7:18 PM, said...
On another note Gi-Lo-this was one of the better writings you've done in awhile. What did Patsy pie think about your methods?
November 29, 2006 12:16 PM, said...
Those roommates are lucky you didn't gut the entire place...gross...