So no shit, there I was.
Which is to say, I was in my bedroom, because I needed to take a shower and wash the gel out of my hair. I turned on the light, and there was a thing on the wall above my fucking bed. A big, brown thing. It had approximately five million legs
and a switchblade. It was a cockroach. A fucking cockroach. And not just a little one. One of the Texas-sized ones. You know, these.
I need you to understand something. I grew up in Colorado. Until forced to move to Texas, I literally had only seen one cockroach “in the wild” in my entire life. And that was an incredibly well-fed german cockroach in a super sketchy Chinese buffet. I am not psychologically prepared to handle this shit.
Which explains the next thing I did, namely scream, “KATHY, I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW. KATHY. KATHY. COME HERE.”
My housemate, bless her forever, hurtled into my room. Yes, that sure was a massive cockroach that was SCURRYING DOWN MY WALL AND AAAAA
There was an undignified scramble to grab the vacuum cleaner, because that’s apparently an amazing way to kill giant cockroaches. Then we had to figure out how to get the long tool attached. Then THE COCKROACH WAS ON THE FLOOR OH MY GOD and Kathy tried to suck it up with the vacuum but it ran under the file cabinet.
Suddenly I was like that guy in the action movie. You know, the guy who gets sent to open the door that the evil alien monster is drooling behind by a jerk of the chin from the guy who has the BFG? I HAVE SEEN THESE MOVIES. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO THAT GUY OKAY. Carefully I turned the little file cabinet over. Nothing. “Open the drawer,” Kathy ordered. I righted the cabinet and, very carefully, opened the drawer. THESE MOTHERFUCKERS CAN FLY OKAY.
The cockroach ran across the files in the drawer. I totally didn’t scream.
(She totally screamed.)
Kathy thrust the vacuum cleaner attachment into my hand and I tried to get the roach as she ran out of the room and LEFT ME ALONE OH GOD WHY. But the roach was wily, and strong, and it called me a bitch and spat at my feet as it ran out across the carpet, murder glinting in its evil little eyes. I got it a good one with the attachment, but then THE ROACH JUST RAN RIGHT BACK OUT OF THE FUCKING HOSE OKAY THIS ROACH WAS WEARING DEPLETED URANIUM ARMOR OR SOMETHING.
As my life flashed before my eyes Kathy charged back into the room, shoe in one hand, can of Pledge in the other. With a mighty battle cry of “LEMONY FRESH, MOTHERFUCKER!” she sprayed the roach with furniture polish. It slowed the ravening beast and then, at great risk to her own life, she beat it to death with her shoe.
And that is the story of how my housemate saved my life tonight.
(The cockroach was subsequently buried at sea.)